


Two Faces, Three Souls

by Birdie (Robin_Knight)



Series: Two Faces, Three Souls [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mpreg, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Revelations, Romance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Birdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter remembered Ben's death clearly. </p><p>It was the trauma that triggered his mutation. </p><p>His closest friends and family knew about his secret identity, but not even they knew about the empathetic abilities. It was why he couldn't reveal to Wade the truth about being Spider-Man, why he felt the pressure of his fathers so keenly, and why he felt his duty to his aunt and daughter so strongly. He felt all of what they felt and more. </p><p>Some secrets couldn't be kept forever. This was one of them. </p><p>The Goblin would soon see to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grinedel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinedel/gifts).



_‘No. No, no, no! Don’t – don’t die . . .’_

_The blood was warm on his hands. It seeped through his fingers; no matter the pressure, the small hole would spurt and gush. Peter felt his heart race with absolute panic, unable to focus on anything except the slowing of breath and the paling of cheeks, and he saw his tears fall into the wound. They soon became invisible, as vision clouded and he began to retch through his weeping. He couldn’t cope. He couldn’t understand this._

_There came a feeling . . . love, pride, hope . . . it wasn’t his, but he felt it almost as if he had always felt it within his breast. Ben’s hand came up – shaking, weak – and touched his cheek, leaving a trail of blood over white skin. It was devastating. Ben was too weak to utter a word, as he lay fragile and broken on the concrete, but still Peter heard clear as day:_

“I’m proud of you, son. You did all you could.”

_‘U-Uncle Ben? Did you – did you say -?’_

_This time the hope was his._

_If Ben could speak so clearly, maybe he would live? Those lips never opened, however. They simply remained closed, which meant words would have been impossible, and those eyes were now glassy and unfocussed, until . . . until they simply stopped looking, until they stared at some invisible spot, and until the feeling of love vanished as if it were never there. His hand fell to his side. It gave a sound like a smack, while the blood slowed and stopped. Peter realised he was trying to give first aid to a dead man. He had failed Ben. He let him die._

_Peter could not remember the rest of the evening._

_He only remembered screaming._

* * *

“Deadpool?” Spider-Man asked. “ _Deadpool?_ You’re kidding me!”

Spider-Man aimed his web high at the wall.

He wanted to keep above Tony; the last time he swung below resulted in a scalding, not to mention a near drop to his death as the webbing caught underneath the propulsion unit, and it also made it far easier to talk this way. The city was laid out beneath him, beautiful and easy to forget he was the ‘webbed menace’ for the whole of ten minutes, and he could almost believe he was something more than himself. He was an Avenger.

The wind caught through the material of his suit, giving him a nice flow of air on an otherwise hot day. It was greatly appreciated. It brushed against his skin and gave some relief, so that he no longer felt the stifling heat as much as those down below, and the resistance of the breeze helped to control his movements and swings. He could see the explosions up ahead, along with running masses, and it looked like Thor was taking it personally, which was enough for Spider-Man to pray thunder wasn’t on the agenda.

“Look,” said Tony, “I know Wade’s not the most stable of –”

“This isn’t about stability, it’s about my identity!”

Spider-Man dropped down onto the nearest rooftop. He heard a click of his limbs, while there was a slight soreness to his wrists from where his webbing pulled, and he paused to kneel down and rub light circles around the skin beneath the gloves. The sting would wear off after a while, but it was a good reminder that – like most bodily fluids – his body hardly boasted an unlimited supply of webbing, which meant he would need to ration out whatever was left.

The explosions up ahead were wearing off, but not nearly enough for his liking. They didn’t know much about their enemy, except that a ‘rogue Asgardian’ had broken free of some dungeon somewhere, and Thor was adamant on dealing with it alone, lest they somehow get hurt in one of ‘Loki’s ploys’. Spider-Man might have been left in the dark, but he certainly wasn’t about to let Thor go it alone with a girl that could well be twice his strength, and so he put his ‘honorary Avenger’ status into effect. Tony followed out of duty.

Tony dropped beside him a moment later, as he removed his helmet. There were heavy bags under his eyes, while his skin looked sallow and pale, and – for a moment – Spider-Man had the horrific fear that his adoptive father had begun drinking again. He looked away and made a mental note to mention it to Steve; he felt his stomach churn, even as Tony stepped next to him and reached down to place a hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner.

“He still doesn’t know?” Tony asked.

Spider-Man gave a sigh and stood up; he rolled back his shoulders to try and loosen his muscles, while he continued to rub at his wrists, and felt the sun warm up his skin. He could smell the alcohol on Tony, enough that a spark of nausea ran through him, but he ignored it to focus on the city block up ahead. S.H.I.E.L.D. had cordoned off the area. Thor had the rogue Asgardian pretty much on the ropes, while Bruce kept the far end blocked off and Clint worked well from above to keep the situation under control. Natasha and Jessica were just out of sight, but he could hear them over the speakers in Tony’s suit. They weren’t far.

Tony could probably swing by near to Bruce, where Steve would join them, and Peter could take the opposite end where Natasha and Jessica likely hid, which would cover both ends of the street and up high with Clint about, and – all in all – it would be the best course of action. They could leave things to Thor, but call in Vision and Wanda should things get too far. The only thing getting in Peter’s way was a spark of irritation and disbelief, feelings that weren’t his own, and they were getting stronger and coming from his father.

“Yo, Earth to Peter?”

“Can we do this later?” Peter asked.

“We could, but it looks like Big, Blonde and Beautiful has it under control.” Tony looked from Thor to Steve over by the cordon. “I was referring to Steve. Totally. If anyone asks, that was about Steve. Anyway, it’s been like what -? Ten years? You –”

“I’m twenty-seven. I didn’t meet Wade when I was seventeen.”

“You’re twenty-seven? Are you sure?”

“Well, I was until just now.”

This time the irritation was Spider-Man’s to endure. He clenched his fists hard and took a step towards the ledge; the cement crumbled slightly underfoot, a sign that the landlord was lacking when it came to maintenance, and the roof door swung with an annoying creak. It was a decent view of below, but an awkward position in terms of getting to their respective locations. The buildings opposite were low and this one was filled with obstructive balconies, and so Spider-Man began to calculate a means of jumping down instead of using his webs.

“What’s got your boxers in a knot?” Tony asked.

“I love you, Pops, honestly.” Spider-Man felt his body slouch. “You took me in when Aunt May wasn’t well enough to watch over me, and I’ll always appreciate that. You and Pepper were the best parents I could ask for, Aunt May the best aunt in the world, but . . . _God_ . . . I just can’t be dealing with your issues right now. Okay? Please?”

“Oh, _my_ issues, says the guy whose boyfriend is in the dark about his secret identity. I’ll add that said identity is hardly secret when every superhero in a ten mile radius is in on it, but – hey – I’m sure Wade won’t mind, he’s a pretty stable guy, right?”

“Don’t! Don’t go there.” Spider-Man rounded on Tony with a scowl. “I stood right by your side when you divorced Pepper, just like I even stood by you through the alcoholism and your thing with Steve, and that thing with Ultron -? Sheesh! I’ve spent more time parenting you than you did parenting me! You were there with me through the abuse, just like you were there for me when I came into my powers . . . can’t you just be here for me now?”

There came a loud roar of anger from Thor, before a flash of light came that briefly blinded both father and son. Tony let out a string of curses, as he put back on his helmet and ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y. for a status update, while Spider-Man – with heightened senses – felt an immense sting that bordered on outright pain. It took a good minute to regain his vision, by which point Tony looked ready to jump into the fray. Spider-Man grabbed his arm. It stopped his father for the whole of a second, enough to quickly blurt out:

“I don’t want to worry him.”

“Who?” Tony prodded. “You mean Wade?”

“Stress triggered my mutation, right?” Spider-Man swallowed hard. “Bruce and Strange checked me over more times than I can count; I was open with Wade about some of it, open with you guys about most of it, but there’s some stuff even _you_ don’t know. I can’t, okay?”

“Damn it, kid. Now you got me curious.”

Tony gave Spider-Man a slap on the back. He could sense the curiosity clear as day, enough that he almost wanted to know what he was hiding himself, until – that was – he realised he _knew_ the secret and said curiosity was simply Tony’s and Tony’s alone. Spider-Man had kept the heightened sense of empathy to himself; it was a blessing and a curse, particularly when he currently felt a craving for whiskey and yet knew himself to be teetotal. Tony gave a sigh and made to rustle his hair, before he seemingly remembered Spider-Man’s costume.

“Listen, you can handle yourself.” Tony smiled beneath his helmet. “If Wade doesn’t have to worry about Spider-Man, he’s not going to start just because he’s banging the guy beneath the mask like a drum all night. You’re not doing him any favours hiding it from him.”

“I know that _logically_ , Pops, but it’s just that I really –”

“No time for that now. We got to get in there.”

Tony jumped from the ledge. He moved quickly, blasting some rock music so loud that Spider-Man felt an ache in his ears, and he was certain Steve would have complaints about that later, which would probably be vented over the phone to Peter. Spider-Man looked away, only to find his eyes cast upon one all too familiar figure . . . someone he loved, someone he trusted, someone that drove him insane . . . only one person would look _excited_ to fight:

Wade.

He moved with an expertise that only came with middle age; he dodged every blow, made every punch, and even his weapon aiming seemed vastly improved. The muscles underneath his costume made the material look ready to rip, while they bulged in places that were almost obscene, and – as he knelt down ready to pounce – his buttocks were on display in such a way that Spider-Man was forced to swallow. He never used to get distracted by Wade in battle, but since they started dating things changed drastically. He couldn’t help but look.

The rogue Asgardian turned her sights on Wade, before she made a dash straight for the mercenary. Spider-Man jumped from balcony to balcony, as he sought to protect Wade from the oncoming attack, and – as he got closer – he sensed the fear from his lover so clear that it rang loudly in his head: _this is goin’ to hurt like fuck_. Spider-Man’s heart raced in time with Wade’s, as he shot a beam of web onto a balcony railing and swung down to catch Wade.

“Don’t worry, pal! I got you!”

Spider-Man may have been stronger than Wade by far, but that didn’t make his heavy weight any easier to bear as he aimed for a nearby alley. It knocked off his balance and centre of gravity. It also put a heavy strain on his wrists. He managed to make an awkward turn last minute, before he shot one last string of web and dropped to a spot behind a dumpster. Wade climbed off with a whoop – _feelings of elation, relief that made his body run cold, a sense of hope that today would be a day without pain –_ and Spider-Man was left catching his breath.

“Not every day you get to swing with a spider,” said Spider-Man breathlessly.

“If it’s swinging you’re into, I bet I can get my boyfriend onboard.” Wade gave a wink beneath his mask. “Seriously, if he sees your butt I bet he’d be up for it! ‘Up for it’, get it? Still, it’s not every day I get to fight with my hero. Thanks for the save, Spidey!”

“You’re just lucky I got there in time. Seriously, what was the plan?” Spider-Man fell back against the wall and folded his arms. “I’ve heard a few people joke about getting pounded by an Asgardian, but I don’t think _that’s_ what they meant. Don’t you have a kid at home? You really want to go back so beaten that you look like you dated Chris Brown?”

“Ouch, too soon, buddy! That was like – what – five years back?”

“Pop references come and go. Who can keep up?”

Wade gave a smile beneath his mask in response. The leather creaked with the movement, revealing the hint of a sincere expression of amusement, and his hand twitched around the gun that was still held in its holster. The red-and-black outfit hid the bloodstains well, but the stench of iron was so heavy that Spider-Man felt a wave of nausea and was forced to raise a hand to his throat to try and pull back the spandex. He drew in a few deep breaths, as he tried to calm himself and stop from retching, but it was difficult when the world felt so hot.

“It’s cool, I can take whatever she deals out,” chirped Wade.

There was a sudden feeling of resignation and insecurity; Spider-Man felt his heart clench tightly in his chest, while his shoulders slumped in time with Wade’s, and a sadness washed over him that he often only felt from Wade when he talked about the past. He wondered whether Wade thought about Shiklah or Mary, whether past abuses were in the forefront of his mind, and – were Spider-Man standing there as ‘Peter’ – he would have comforted him.

“I – er – know we’ve had a rough past before,” admitted Spider-Man. “It’s hard to ignore the wrongs you did to me, or what I did to you, but you’ve proven yourself to be a good man. I know you can prove yourself to be a hero. I know it. Don’t let anyone hurt you, _ever_.”

“Let me guess . . . a guy like me deserves better?”

“A guy like you deserves a fresh start.”

Spider-Man caught sight of Jessica hurtling past the alley, while Natasha and Ava ran in hot pursuit, and – between the three of them – Spider-Man was certain this new Asgardian wouldn’t stand a chance in battle. He chanced a glance around the corner; there was no point heading back out into the fight without scooping the situation out first, because he refused to let Wade run into a situation that would put them in danger. He saw the fight clear as day.

It looked pretty brutal, but Steve and Thor had it under control. He could swing overhead and maybe web up the Asgardian with what webbing he had left in him, and that would give Thor a chance to subdue the girl and haul her back to Asgard. Wade came to stand impossibly close behind him; a part of him felt rather annoyed, seeing as Wade was a taken man, but this flirtation and breach of personal space was relatively normal. Spider-Man thought nothing of it, until he felt a rough hand squeeze his buttock and make a ‘honk’ noise.

He reacted without thinking.

Spider-Man spun around and let his closed fist come into contact with Wade’s nose, where he felt something break and warm blood on his knuckles, and – as guilt kicked in, along with absolute shame – he realised the blow had far more strength behind it than intended. He knew he would never forgive himself for the punch. Wade, however, simply laughed callously, before he pulled up his mask and spat out a disgusting mixture of blood and mucus. The nose looked broken and sore. Spider-Man felt himself sick to his stomach.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Wade! I only meant to –”

“Nah, my fault. Always my fault.”

There was a sound of metal upon metal, as Wade unsheathed his sword. Spider-Man felt tears behind his mask, as emotions started to overwhelm him, and no longer could he tell where his guilt began and Wade’s self-loathing ended, but he knew he had to hold back from crying lest Wade become suspicious as to the cause. His identity as ‘Peter’ needed to be secret. Wade pushed past him all too violently, before he ran out into the crowd and attempted to help out.

“I’m no better than his ex-wife,” whispered Spider-Man.

Spider-Man lifted his mask just enough to wipe away a few tears, before he let out a shuddered breath and aimed his webbing high onto a balcony to swing over to the fracas, but – as he moved – he caught sight of one of Clint’s arrows flying overhead and heard a scream for everyone to ‘get down’. He looked up briefly – mid-swing – to see the arrow jam into the mortar between two bricks and flash rapidly with a red light, and suddenly there was an explosion that ripped his webbing in two and sent him hurtling a few lucky feet to the ground.

He climbed upright and made to run over to Thor, but something stopped him dead. Tony was flying with great speed towards him, calling him name with a blatant panic, and he caught the eyes of Natasha wide and surprised right at him, as his spider-sense shot a million volts through his system. He looked up and saw a piece of rubble fall down. There was only a brief second to jump without being crushed, but something caught his head regardless.

Blood. Pain. Fear.

Spider-Man found himself lying just beside a chunk of concrete and brick, as his eyes focused and unfocused on the sight, and blood began to trickle from underneath his mask and onto the sidewalk below. The pain was unbearable. He felt dizzy and lost and confused, unable to make sense of his surroundings, and the exhaustion he felt overwhelmed him.

Everything went black.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

# Chapter Two

“Where am I?”

Peter blinked away the sleep.

There was a sharp pain in his head; it was hard to ignore, like someone was searing into his flesh, and it wasn’t just localised to what felt like a deep cut. It radiated out in all directions. He felt it throb with every beat of his pulse, until he could barely take it any longer and felt the need to sit upright. Peter only managed to move an inch from what seemed to be a rather comfortable bed, as – no sooner did he move – two hands fell onto his shoulders.

They were firm and familiar, as if he somehow knew the owner. Peter let his head fall back upon the plump pillow, where those fingers smoothed through his hair and gently touched around the wound, and soon his eyes adjusted to see his role-model: Steve. He was sat beside Peter with an exceptionally patient smile, still in his uniform and with hair matted slightly with blood from a blow of his own, but he looked healthy overall. It reassured him to see his stepfather beside him, and he smiled in turn.

“You put me in my room?”

“Sure did,” said Steve. “Just as you left it, champ.”

Peter felt his eyes focus and looked about the room. There were posters opposite of Albert Einstein and Marie Curie, while the desk underneath still held half-full test tubes and papers half-filled with equations, and there was even a pile of clothes by his closet tossed there and forgotten over time. It was easy to pass it off as Tony just being too lazy to redecorate, but a part of him suspected some sentimentality on his father’s part. They had even dressed him in an old pair of pyjamas, which were covered in a web-design and bright red.

“What happened?” Peter asked.

“Clint shot at the building above you,” explained Steve. “We weren’t expecting you or Tony to join the fray; the street was cleared out by S.H.I.E.L.D. before you got there, so Clint had no idea you were standing right underneath the balconies at the time. The rubble fell and hit you. It knocked you out cold. I can’t remember the last time I felt that level of terror, Peter. The blood was everywhere. I honestly thought the worst when I saw you.”

“I just remember something hitting me, then everything went dark.” Peter reached up to touch the wound, only to find it bandaged and sore. “How long have I been out? I’m supposed to pick Ellie up from Preston’s after school, and she’s got this big science project that’s –”

“Whoa, Peter! You’ve had a nasty head injury. There’s no way that I can let you go out in this state. Just rest up and don’t worry about anything else; we’ve told Wade that you were in the area at the time of the attack, so it’s just a random civilian casualty, and Ava offered to pick Ellie up for you and bring her straight here. Everything is fine.”

There was a sudden sense of pity. It came straight from Steve, but was mixed in with something Peter couldn’t quite identify, even with years of empathetic abilities . . . it felt like a familial love from May or Tony, mixed in with something like nostalgia . . . Peter could actually feel an ache in his chest from those emotions. Steve became more worried as Peter remained silent in response, but Peter was still busy trying to separate what he felt from his stepfather and process it accordingly. At least Ellie was okay.

Peter could stand lying no longer; he reached out a hand to Steve, who took his with a tight fist, and slowly pulled him up into a sitting position. It felt good to be pampered, as the soldier plumped a pillow and put it behind Peter’s back, where Peter felt himself lowered back with a sigh of contentment. He let his eyes close for a moment, as he cherished the rare moment of quiet away from his family and duties, before he asked:

“So Wade hasn’t put two and two together?”

“Not yet, but he’s smarter than people like Tony give him credit.” Steve gave a warm smile. “It’s only a matter of time before he realises the truth, and – if I know Wade, which I _do_ – he’s going to be devastated that you didn’t trust him to tell him before.”

“Come on, Steve. The last thing I need is a guilt-trip.”

“If you feel guilty, it’s a sign you know –”

“That what I’m doing is wrong . . .”

Peter smiled as warmly as possible, but it was difficult when he felt a sting of guilt. He kept his secret identity from Wade to protect him, unable to deal with the worry and panic that would no doubt come from his partner, but he also knew how much trust meant to Wade. The fact that Shiklah had systematically cheated upon him had devastated Wade, so much so that he became both paranoid and jealous when first dating Peter, and that took years to change.

The conversation was cut short by sounds outside the bedroom door. This was the only part of Avengers Tower where rooms weren’t entirely soundproofed, which meant the whispered argument was audible enough to get the attention of both men, and soon the argument developed enough that it was borderline shouting by its participants. Peter gave a sigh and let his head fall back upon his pillow, even as it throbbed and ached and burned, and tried not to let the distraction outside become too much of a burden. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

_‘I’m just saying that he’s my son and -’_

_‘And what? That excludes him from making the same mistakes as the rest of us?’_ There was a deep sigh from what sounded like Bruce. _‘I know you love that boy, we all do, but you hold him to an impossibly high standard. He’s . . . well . . . human.’_

 _‘You think I don’t know that? Hello, do you_ remember _what I told you about my parents? Sheesh, you’ve got to be the worst kind of therapist ever! Hannibal Lecter? Better therapist than you.’_ Tony gave a pause. The doorknob bent under pressure. _‘Actually, now I have a craving for meat. You got that craving, too? I think I’ll order in sushi.’_

_‘Okay, first up: I’m not that kind of doctor. Secondly, I’m running the blood whether you say so or not. Peter’s mutations run more than just spider-like abilities and webbing, and –’_

“Guys, we can hear every word in here!” Steve called out.

The two of them fell silent. They quickly made their way inside a second later, almost as if they hadn’t been caught talking about Peter so obviously, and soon Tony was stood behind Steve with his hands rested on his husband’s shoulders. Steve reached a hand up to hold onto Tony’s, so that his arm crossed his chest, and the gesture was oddly intimate. There was something reassuring about seeing them together, although Peter suspected – as Bruce came around to take his pulse – he was just picking up on their feelings of love.

“It’s good to see you’re up, Peter,” said Bruce.

The older man wore his typical nervous smile; he worked effortlessly examining Peter’s body, measuring his vitals and pressing about his abdomen, while Tony reached over – with the hand not holding onto Steve – and rustled his hair. Those fingers felt oddly cold, while there was a shake to them that spoke of a slight intoxication, and yet they were filled with affection and relief that seeped through every movement. Peter felt grateful for his presence.

Bruce’s attentions began to feel strange, enough that he felt more than a little worried, but he let the man poke and prod until he was about done. The check-up was rounded up by a blood test, followed by a request for a urine sample later on, and – by that point – Peter was beginning to feel this was a huge overreaction for a simple head injury. He looked over to Tony, who was watching him with eyes filled with concern, while Steve appeared oblivious to whatever conservation had been previously had, which was another concern.

“How are you feeling, Peter?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing that a couple of aspirin wouldn’t fix,” Peter admitted.

“I’m going to advise against that, just for a little while.” Bruce checked his notes. “Tony and Wade mentioned some symptoms you’ve had before now, so I just want to make sure none of those contributed to your slow reflexes this afternoon. No alcohol or drugs until then, okay? Er, stick to paracetamol for now. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“If everything’s fine, why the precautions?” Steve asked, as he reached out for Peter’s hand. “Is there something you aren’t telling us? If I have to call May to get you guys to talk, don’t think I have any qualms about doing so. Damn it, this is –”

“Language, Cap. We have a kid present,” mocked Tony.

Peter held back a laugh. The look that Steve shot Tony was pretty cold, which was understandable given the circumstances, and Peter picked up the feeling of anger that emanated from the soldier that were – _he’s our son, he needs to come first, jokes aren’t appropriate when he’s so –_ impossible to ignore. Peter could understand, because he was just like Steve in some respects. Ellie wasn’t his blood, but his duty to her was still strong.

“It’s nothing – it’s nothing _bad_ ,” stammered Bruce.

“Then there’s nothing to hide,” pressed Steve.

“Tony just mentioned Peter’s been pretty sensitive to smells lately. I checked in with Wade, to put his mind at rest, because he got home to an empty house and he needed to know why, but . . . ah . . . he mentioned some nausea, fainting spells, and cramping.”

Steve looked between Peter and Bruce nervously, as his face turned white and he seemed caught between emotions. It was difficult to know exactly what Steve felt, specifically because Peter felt a momentary panic of his own and a simultaneous sense of elation, but – as much as he always wanted more children than Ellie – he knew Wade was dead set against it. The whirlwind of emotions was almost overwhelming, until Steve asked:

“So you think he may be -?”

‘Honey, I’m home!’

The bedroom door swung wide open. Wade practically ran in, despite Tony’s attempt to hold him back, and managed to jump clear over the bed. He skidded to a stop next to Bruce, before he quickly hopped onto the bed next to Peter and draped an arm over his shoulders. The jostling of the mattress was disorientating, enough that Peter felt a sharp pain again in his head, but the warmth of Wade next to him was a comfort through the pain. There was a sharp smell of blood, but he looked unhurt for the most part. He actually looked handsome.

Wade must have changed before heading over to the tower; he was dressed in his custom-made suit, which was black and form-fitting with a red shirt underneath, while the attached black hood gave it a kind of ‘cool’ and ‘sexy’ vibe. There were gloves on his hands, but no mask to cover his face, and he beamed so brightly that Peter felt his heart melt to see his partner so alive and filled with relief, so much that he wished they were alone.

Ava stood at the foot of the bed with Ellie holding her hand, dressed casually in a fashionable skirt and sweater, while Ellie looked like she had ran a marathon in torn shorts and a muddied hooded top. The young girl almost looked like Ava’s daughter for a moment, as both had the same beautiful skin-tone and same shade of black hair, but such similarities were superficial and stopped there. Ellie let go of her babysitter’s hand and leaned on the mattress, as she smiled up at her stepfather and shook his foot to get his attention.

“How’re you feeling, Peter?”

“Great, sweetie,” chirped Peter. “Better now you’re here.”

“Funny how you got a head injury,” said Ava with a cheeky smile. “I hear Spider-Man got his the exact same place, but – hey – he’s got superpowers, hasn’t he? I bet he’s at home in bed, right now as we speak, just lazing around without a care in the world.”

“Yeah, it’s funny how _coincidences_ like that can happen.”

“You know what Danny says about coincidences?”

Peter tried to communicate with her non-verbally; he narrowed his eyes into a dark scowl, as he glared his annoyance at her, but kept a smile on his face so that Ellie wouldn’t notice. It must have failed to work, because Steve looked like he was struggling to hold back a laugh – mouth hidden behind a half-closed fist – while Ellie knitted her eyebrows in sheer confusion at what she saw on her stepfather’s face. If Wade wasn’t around, Peter may have just thrown a pillow straight at Ava, but – then again – Ava wouldn’t have teased him with Wade absent.

“No, I don’t know what Danny says,” lied Peter.

“He says there’s no such thing as coincidences.” Ava gave a wink and smiled. “Listen, why don’t I take Ellie for the night? I’m supposed to be watching Sam and MJ’s brat anyway, so what difference does one more kid make? Besides, Ellie’s pretty cool for a kid. I was thinking of taking her to Danny’s place for some lessons, got to get started early, am I right?”

“You want me to let Ellie out of my sight? Now?” Wade interrupted. “No way, kitten! I nearly lost my sweetums, so I ain’t going to risk losing my baby girl, too! I want my whole family together under one roof for one night! Oh, we can have a sleepover and –”

“Not under my roof, you don’t!” Tony’s hand visibly clenched around Steve’s, before he added with a scowl: “I might have gotten used to you dating my son, but that doesn’t mean I want you around stinking up every bathroom in the place and trying to teach F.R.I.D.A.Y. to curse at guests. Anyway, Peter needs to rest. Why don’t you guys all head to your respective homes, then I’ll get someone to drop Peter off tomorrow? Okay? Okay. Good.”

“Tony, if Wade and Ellie want to stay, they can stay,” said Steve.

“You’re kidding me, right? I totally have this –”

“They’re staying, Tony. That’s it.”

Tony gave a long sigh, as Ellie laughed and climbed onto the bed. The little girl slid over to Peter’s left side, as she crawled underneath his arm and hugged him tight, and Steve slowly made his way across the room to fetch more blankets, even as Wade called out for popcorn and the remote. It was clear that Ava planned on staying, too, at least judging by how she rang to invite over the rest of the gang, and Peter knew he would have to make it up to his father later on, as there was no doubt the noise would keep his parents awake.

It felt good to be surrounded by friends and family, but Bruce’s concerns still lingered with Peter and made him worry just what could be wrong with him, especially when he held the weight of so much responsibility upon his shoulders. He remembered arguments spent with Wade about their future, each one disagreeing on what was best for them as a family, and his arms instinctively tightened around Ellie as the worry settled in.

Wade argued with Ava over a movie, as Bruce and Steve sneaked outside, and Tony promised to be back soon with refreshments and to check on Peter. He barely noticed what was going on, as he focused on everything he knew. Wade nudged him back to sense.

“Yo! Are you okay there, baby boy?”

“Yeah, everything’s perfect.”

Peter smiled warmly.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

# Chapter Three

‘ _Thanks for helping me make the tea, Miss May.’_

Peter glanced briefly to the kitchen.

He saw Ellie standing in the doorway, where she leaned against the frame with her hands in her pockets and her dark eyes following her father’s movements. There was a lot of clatter from within, as May and Wade fiddled about with cups and saucers, and the whistle of the kettle on the stove began to sound loudly throughout the house. He felt their comfort, just as he felt their sense of peace and relaxation, and it felt at odds with everything he felt himself.

Up there – on the ceiling – crawled Gerry.

The small boy was absolutely beautiful, as well as absolutely oblivious to Peter’s panic. He was dressed in a red romper suit, with his hair mussed up from his nap, and he was currently laughing and clapping his hands not far from the overhead light. Peter dashed to the switch to make sure it was off, but the last thing he needed was a baby pulling at wires or breaking the glass bulb, and he felt his heart begin to race fast within his chest. The idea had been to bring Wade around to wanting a child, not putting him off with a trip to the emergency room.

“Come on down, Gerry,” whispered Peter. “I’ve got sugar!”

_‘How did the test results go? Are they back yet?’_

_‘Ah, Petey can tell you all about that. Let’s go back into -’_

Peter felt his blood run cold. If they came in now, it’d mean telling Wade about his secret identity or risk them panicking about how to get Gerry down. He made a decision in the heat of the moment; he ran straight for the living room wall, sprinted up, and vaulted across the ceiling to grab Gerry into his arms. They quickly dropped down together. The overhead light still swung from where Gerry had managed to get in a single swat, while Peter felt his chest heave with panted breaths, and felt grateful he was in socks rather than boots.

He heard Gerry laugh louder than before, as he tried to say ‘again’ in the way only an infant could manage, and his little hands clapped together in excitement. Peter slumped his shoulders and hung his head in defeat. The fact was that he had turned away for less than a minute, simply to lean into the kitchen to ask for non-caffeinated coffee, and the next thing he knew was that Gerry had crawled away from the play-mat and up the walls.

“What’re you doing, Peter?” Ellie asked.

Peter looked down to see Ellie; she was dressed in a rather smart dress, complete with brown leggings and black shoes, and it looked like Preston had dressed her especially for the occasion of having tea with her father. It was a shame that Wade didn’t feel it safe for her to live with them, as she was such a bright and compassionate young girl, but Peter knew that Preston acted as the best mother that Ellie could ever need. He smiled warmly to her.

“Just – er – admiring that new baby smell,” he lied.

He lifted Gerry high in the air, as he gave a show of breathing in deep. It was something that Ellie didn’t seem to care about one way or another, as she sat down on the floor next to the coffee table, but – as he drew in what he hoped would be a lovely scent – something incredibly foul accosted his senses and made him feel incredibly sick. The nausea was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt himself retch, as he held Gerry out at arm’s distance away from him, as he tried to control his breathing and stop from vomiting.

“Aw, baby fudge his undies?” Wade teased.

“Smells more like someone’s trying to recreate the chocolate river scene from _Willy Wonka_ ,” muttered Peter, as he began to feel faint. “Can – can you – can you take him? I – I feel a bit sick, don’t want to be holding him should that happen. He needs changing.”

“Dude, I just washed my hands! No way, Jose!”

“ _I’ll_ take him, Peter,” said May.

May came around the sofa to play a tray of beverages upon the table, which Ellie at once helped herself to some hot chocolate, and Wade threw himself unceremoniously on the sofa with a whoop of celebration. He took up the entire length of the cushions, with feet dangling off one end and hands shoved into the pockets of his red hooded top, and he looked about as interested in the hot drinks as Peter was in being near the smell of dirty diapers. May took Gerry from him with a great deal of kindness and patience.

It was a relief to see her do so well with the young boy; she struggled to hold him for longer than a few minutes, but she was perfectly fine to hold him long enough for a changing. He simply wished her arthritis were better. He could feel May’s love and devotion seep through, as he caught words similar to those growing up . . . _always wanted a child of – so precious, I hope Peter’s – I wonder if I could hold him for - . . ._ he smiled to watch her.

May’s emotions and thoughts always seemed to stop and start, as if she had a thousand competing thoughts going on at any given time, and she juggled her complex emotions with an expertise he envied. He watched as she changed Gerry at the other side of the room, while he took a seat on the armchair behind Ellie and asked her to pass him his coffee, and he made a mental note to chastise Wade later for having forgotten to bring in the tray himself. The weight must have been uncomfortable for his aunt, but she never complained once.

“So how did the test results go?” May asked.

The elderly woman stood up awkwardly, as she bent down as much as she could. Her long fingers extended so that Gerry could take a grip of each one; she helped him to balance on two shaky feet, as she slowly walked him over to the sofa and coughed loudly at the edge, before Wade got the hint from her stern glare and picked the baby up. He plopped it onto his stomach, while May took a seat on the only other armchair far opposite Peter.

“Well,” said Peter, “I’m not too –”

“ _Wade, you watch that baby properly! He’s going to fall!”_ May shot him a dark look, as Wade abruptly jumped up into a sitting position and began to play ‘peek-a-boo’, albeit in the weird way that only a man under duress could manage. “You were saying, Peter?”

“Er, well, you guys both know about my mutation, right? Bruce thinks that pregnancy may be playing a factor with some of my recent . . . er . . . p-problems. The urine tests came back negative, though, so we’re just waiting for the results of the blood samples now, but it could take a few days . . . Bruce is really overworked. So it’s all uncertain.”

“Well, what do you and Wade want?”

“Dad doesn’t want a baby,” chirped Ellie without any concern. “I think he’d be pretty good with a baby, so did his friend who visited one day. He said that Dad was pretty good with hope or something, but I didn’t really listen much after that.”

Peter smiled, as he took a sip of his coffee. The liquid was hot and bitter, enough that it grounded him and comforted him, and he felt a sense of relief that Ellie could see what he could see, too. It didn’t help that the little girl had been pestering them for a sibling for over a year now, so her motives weren’t entirely selfless, but it helped that she was able to see how Wade could be a good parent to another child, because she knew firsthand what a good father he could be with her. He was by no means perfect, but he loved unconditionally.

“We all know that Wade _can_ be a good father,” said Peter patiently. “We just don’t want to rush into a decision to _have_ another child, not when we aren’t sure we’re ready emotionally, and it’s not enough for one of us to be ready . . . we _both_ need to be ready. I don’t even know if it’s an actuality yet. Wade and I are –” Peter looked nervously to Ellie “– _safe_.”

“Safe from what?” Ellie asked.

“Safe from wanting kids,” muttered Wade. “This thing keeps spitting up on me. Is that normal? It must have crazy reflux. I’ve been around loads of kids, been pretty good with them, too, but don’t mean I want to have to carry a change of clothes with me forever on.”

“It’s just saliva,” replied Peter. “I can see it from here.”

“Uh-huh, then let him spit up on you!”

Peter rolled his eyes and put his cup down onto the table. He got up to take Gerry from Wade, who was confused at the sudden movement and happy to see his regular babysitter, and yet Peter felt a stab of pain that his partner still might not be ready for a child, especially as he seemed to react so badly to babysitting in general. It may have been different should it be _their_ child, but – with a child potentially on the way – Peter needed some reassurance.

He sat down and let Gerry rest on his lap, where he smiled at the boy’s rosy cheeks and wide smile, and he felt the sense of curiosity and wonder from the giggling child, as everything was so new and so beautiful to him. Peter envied Jessica. He envied her for knowing how much she wanted a child, for intentionally seeking out the option to have a child, and for being such a good mother to the child in the process. The boy _was_ drooling a lot, though, which made Peter think he could be teething, and Wade wasn’t wrong. It was gross.

“Well, there’s still a chance I’m _not_. . .”

“You’ve changed your mind, too, baby boy?” Wade laughed loudly. “Like you said, we’re safe! I’ll bet you my Bea Arthur collection that you’re not carrying a mini foetus-face in there, but – even if you are – why worry about it until we know? I don’t know about you, but last thing I want is more stress when there ain’t a reason to stress.”

“Wade may have a point,” added May. “If you really are pregnant, this kind of stress will only negatively affect the baby. If you aren’t pregnant, it will just be an unnecessary burden on you when you already have so much on your plate. Try to prepare for both, but –”

“– only worry once I know _what_ I’m worrying about.”

Peter felt the concern roll off her in waves; he looked across the room to see her sat down, with her hands clasped neatly on her skirts, as she smiled across to him and looked at him with the same expression of love he remembered growing up. It would have been nice to have lived with her, but he appreciated everything Tony did for him and all Tony provided nonetheless, and May – despite her age and illnesses – always found time for him. He remembered crying during finals one time, and he remembered he support.

“You said the same thing to me about exam results.”

“Which you always passed with flying colours,” teased May.

“Yeah, but we _don’t_ want to pass this one,” exclaimed Wade. “Like, if there’s one test we could fail, could it be this one? I love Ellie more than anything in the world, enough I’d give my life ten times over for her, but when you love someone _that_ much -? Every day is total terror! I live my life scared of losing her, but she never asked to be born into my shit-stain of a life, so I got double the duty to make sure she’s alright, too, but to double that duty -?”

Wade threw himself back onto the sofa, as he buried his head underneath an old cushion. It was one that Peter made to replace, but it had moulded itself to his partner’s head and was stained with pus and blood from Wade’s wounds, and – well – it had sort of become Wade’s pillow and Wade’s alone. It also became a sign to Peter, because Wade only clung to it when the pain was particularly bad. That was also part of the problem. Wade suffered so much physically, it seeped through into his voice and made him sound so much smaller.

“I ain’t strong enough to be a parent for two,” Wade said.

“Yeah, you are,” said Ellie. “You always do what’s right in the end.”

“Ellie’s right there.” Peter placed a kiss on Gerry’s head, before he smiled over at Wade. “I’ll admit you have a lot of – of . . . er, let’s call them ‘quirks’. Still, you always come through when it counts and you always put Ellie first in all things. You’re a good man.”

“You ain’t going to convince me by buttering me up,” muttered Wade.

“I know, but I also need you to know I have faith in you.”

Gerry gave a gurgle on Peter’s lap, just as he began chewing on his fist with a gum-filled mouth and a lot of drool, and Peter felt his face pull into something close to disgust as the boy’s entire face was soon covered in saliva. He always wanted a family, but when Ellie came along – already _way_ past toilet training – he somehow forgot that the formative years were perhaps the most challenging years. He gave a sigh and tried not to look too annoyed.

“Well, we’ve got Gerry for the whole weekend,” muttered Peter.

“The whole weekend? You’re shitting me, right?”

Gerry chose that moment to spit up.

“I wish I were,” admitted Peter.


	4. Chapter 4

# Chapter Four

Tony swirled the contents of the tumbler.

It was clearly something alcoholic; Spider-Man could smell the contents from across the room, while the sound of ice clinking against glass echoed about the room, and – as he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows – he felt worried on behalf of his father. The bar on this floor was once completely without stock, which started roughly the same time that Tony began seeing Steve, but lately all that had changed and for the worst. There were dozens of bottles all lined up along the counter, while empty glasses lined against the shelves.

Tony was dressed in old sweatpants and a t-shirt that was barely there, and there were bags under his eyes that spoke of a lack of sleep and his skin looked sallow. It was clear he was no longer taking care of himself. It was a relapse. True, Tony was sober enough to currently lounge about his floor of Stark Tower and occasionally work on his projects, but it would only be a matter of time before Rhodey and Pepper would need to get involved.

Eventually, there would need to be an intervention.

Spider-Man sensed a whirlwind of emotions, some which were all too familiar from his past, and they reminded him all too much of himself. The self-loathing, the fear of facing what needed to be faced, and even the desire to push people away to avoid the pain of them leaving, so that the wave of self-defeatist pain began to suffocate him. He wished he could turn off the empathetic abilities, but it came as naturally as his spider-sense. The only thing he could do was to watch his father pace back and forth, sabotaging his own progress.

“Pops? Can we talk?” Spider-Man asked.

Tony paused where he stood, as he looked over to his son. It was almost as if he was seeing Spider-Man for the first time, even as Spider-Man stood as conspicuously as possible in the living room against the window, and he wandered in with a slight sway to his steps. Tony eventually dropped himself down onto the sofa, where he sat his bare feet onto the coffee table and sipped at what was likely whiskey, before he gave a mock toast to his son in response. Spider-Man pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“It’s not even lunchtime,” said Spider-Man.

“Then just think of it as liquid lunch,” replied Tony. “Listen, the Avengers are all going to be here soon, which also means your dear pal Wade, so – if you want a father-son talk – it’s going to be a pretty big giveaway as to your ‘secret’ identity. You know, as a head’s up.”

“I’ll take that chance. This is important, Pops, _really_ important.”

“Okay, then I’m all ears, but – er – I’m also pretty –”

Tony sloshed his drink and gestured to himself. It was an unnecessary gesture, as it was pretty clear he was straddling the line between sobriety and intoxication pretty close, but Peter appreciated the honesty nonetheless. He knew his father would do anything to help him, even going so far as to postpone conferences or research, and he also knew this was his father’s way of saying: ‘if I can’t help you right now, come back to me the second when I can’. Tony would never forgive himself, not if Peter felt there was nowhere to turn.

“Is this about the pregnancy?” Tony asked quietly.

“Sort of,” admitted Spider-Man. “Bruce said the tests were inconclusive; he’s taken more blood, but he’s had to send it over to Strange to check over. I figured I’d stop being Spider-Man for a while; just to be safe, you know? It’s only a few months, right?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Tony raised his glass and downed the contents. “Call me a cynic, but it sounds like there’s a lot more to this than taking a spider-sabbatical, am I right? The gang would totally understand that you wouldn’t want to fight pregnant, plus Wade would believe anything you told him, so the super-genius part of me thinks there’s something else. Ooh, I sense drama! Is it Wade’s? It is Wade’s, isn’t it?”

“What kind of guy do you think I am? Not all of us have our genitalia come with a public health warning.” Spider-Man blushed beneath his mask. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been nothing but faithful to Wade! I was thinking of proposing to him, but . . . I don’t know . . . we just can’t seem to agree on whether to have kids. It’s a big thing. What do I do?”

Spider-Man ran his hand over his mask; he felt hot underneath the material, as moisture clung to the inside of the mask with every breath, and soon he would start to feel suffocated with his recent onset of nausea. It clung to his skin in a pretty revolting way, too, so that he kept his arms apart from his chest as much as possible, all in the hopes of letting his armpits breathe, and he was starting to feel paranoid about any potential smell.

They sat in silence for a long moment, as Tony stared down into his empty glass and swirled it as if there were still liquid inside. The white décor of the living room was starting to feel oppressive, too sterile and not enough personality, and Peter began to miss being at home with his family or crashing in his aunt’s house with his friends. There were a few personal items of Steve’s . . . framed photographs of friends and colleagues, a few items of sentimental value, and even a few stray magazines . . . sadly everything else was just so ordinary.

“How does Wade feel?”

Spider-Man jumped where he sat. The question came almost out of nowhere, as he was so lost in thought, until he saw Tony lean forward and look at him with a serious expression. Tony sat with legs apart and glass held between them, so that he looked as casual and laidback as he often did when in the comfort of his home, and he seemed genuinely interested in what Spider-Man had to say in response. Spider-Man gave a nervous cough behind his mask, as he pulled at the material around his neck for room to breathe.

“I think he’s scared,” whispered Spider-Man.

“Who isn’t?” Tony nursed the empty glass. “Can I be honest with you? I never wanted kids. Can’t stand them. They’re clingy and obnoxious, plus they always seem to want to play with your stuff, which I don’t get at all! I mean I don’t go into _your_ room and use your stuff.”

“Yeah, you kind of do. There was my chemistry set, then my pens, and my –”

“The point is that kids are the worst. Well, except one . . . _my_ kid . . . not that I would ever want to admit that aloud. I don’t want you to get a big head.” Tony smiled warmly. “Truth be told, I was always _terrified_ of being a dad, because – well – my dad was the worst. I always felt like a burden, like I was a disappointment, and my absolute worst fear was to pass that along to some brat. Then your parents died and your aunt got sick and –”

Tony cut himself off mid-sentence. Peter caught a range of emotions from his father – _feel so stupid saying this, he’s probably thinking me an idiot, but got to be honest at some point -_ that spoke of a great deal of conflict. He felt the ache in his gut that spoke of fear, along with the twitch to his lips of a smile, and he also felt the familiar sting of love that came from a parent to a child. Spider-Man remained silent out of respect, as he waited for Tony to finish his train of thought. The middle-aged man’s muscles bulged and he bit his lip.

“If anyone had _asked_ me if I wanted a kid, I’d have said ‘no’,” admitted Tony. “You were kind of thrown on me, though, and I thought it was just temporary at first. I didn’t realise your aunt would never be able to care for you, and by the time I did -? I’d fallen for you. You were smart enough to keep up with my science, understanding enough to give me my space, and I started to feel like a real father and I _liked_ being a father. I got to teach you, too.”

“You were a good dad, Pops. I won’t lie and say you were the best, but you always gave me plenty of love and support. I loved helping you out in the lab, or sleepovers with everyone in the living room, or just sitting with you while you talked about the old days.”

“Yeah, but I bet you weren’t so keen on rolling me over, hiding the liquor bottles, or making excuses to people why I was late to parent-teacher conferences.” Tony shrugged. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t make my parents’ mistakes, but I made plenty of my own. That’s what being a parent is, I guess. My point -? Wade will feel different when it’s _his_ kid.”

The words felt oddly hollow, as if Tony was trying to convince himself more than he tried to convince Peter, but the sentiment was one of kindness and reassurance. Tony gave a sigh and slid his empty glass onto the coffee table, before he stood up and stretched out his muscles with a groan that likely came from age. He wandered over to Spider-Man and slapped a hand on his shoulder, as he gave a close approximation of a smile. Spider-Man asked:

“What if he doesn’t come around and I’m -?”

“Wade’s a fool, but he’s a _loyal_ fool,” said Tony. “He’ll be there for you. If he isn’t, I can guarantee he’ll be sending ‘anonymous’ presents and cash and luxuries to your house each month, probably spying on you from afar, too. He won’t keep away . . . like a fungal rash.”

“It’s not just about Wade, though. What if _I’m_ not ready, either?”

“Well, you better get ready, Peter.”

Spider-Man made to retort when the elevator door opened. It revealed Natasha, Clint and Thor in a way that seemed almost dramatic, while Wanda and Vision followed after and went quickly to their floor, and – for a moment – Spider-Man felt a sting of sadness that Wade wasn’t with them. The sadness was short-lived. Wade appeared a second later, for some reason fighting with a pair of pants and only in his underwear from the waist down. Spider-Man didn’t question it, as strange things were all too common where Wade was concerned.

The mercenary soon stopped when he spotted Spider-Man; he managed to finally do the belt to his trousers, before he took a fast run straight across the living room, and dove onto the sofa next to where Tony sat just moments before. There followed a huge sound of breaking wood and springs. Wade barely even muttered an apology, before he was back on his feet and dove for Spider-Man and hugged him so tightly that Spider-Man had to force him away.

“Spidey!” Wade called out. “My hero!”

It was hard to be annoyed when he could practically see the expression of awe and admiration under that leather mask, and he felt a huge overwhelming sense of respect from Wade even as he simply stood there clutching Spider-Man’s hand like a fan. He was a good couple of inches taller than Spider-Man, so that he had to bend slightly to meet his eyes, but somehow that only made his muscles stand out all the more and emphasised his body.

They stood awkwardly together, as Spider-Man fought an urge to kiss Wade. He knew there was no way he could tell Wade the truth, which meant no way they could be intimate in costume, but he couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of attraction. A part of that was due to Wade’s own crush on Spider-Man; it wafted through so strongly that it was almost a concern, and only Spider-Man’s knowledge that Wade would rather die than be unfaithful provided some reassurance. Thor laughed from afar, as the other Avengers settled into the kitchen.

“Er, hey, Wade,” muttered Spider-Man.

“We missed you out there, Spidey!” Wade jumped where he stood. “I was hoping my Petey would be here, because he always gets the best photos of you, and I thought maybe you were fighting somewhere else, but -! You know, I have a poster of you in my room? My boyfriend hates it, so I stuck it in the closet. I think he’s jealous. It’s awesome, though, I -!”

“Peter’s at work, Wade,” interrupted Tony. “You know that.”

“Ah, yeah, he’s a teacher!” Wade slapped Spider-Man on the shoulder. “Now I think about it, I don’t think you’ve ever met my Petey, right? We should go surprise him at school later, because he’d totally love that! Say, what were you doing here? Anything fun?”

Spider-Man looked nervously to his father. Tony was surprisingly less than helpful, as he clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed tightly, before he walked across the room to join three of his teammates in some serious talks. It left Spider-Man feeling a sense of dread, as he worried about how to broach such a subject with Wade, especially as Spider-Man was an ‘outsider’ to Wade and had no right to talk about parenthood with him. He swallowed hard and gave as best a smile as he could manage beneath his mask.

“Actually, we were just talking about you,” admitted Spider-Man.

There was a sudden silence. Wade tilted his head to the side and looked about the room; no one was watching them from the kitchen table, possibly as no one worried or cared about the conversation at hand, but there were a few surreptitious glances from Tony. Spider-Man noticed his father held a fresh glass in hand, this time with a clear liquid that was certainly not water, but he refrained from calling him out on in it in public. Wade asked abruptly:

“Really? Not all bad, I hope?”

“Huh? Oh. Not at all,” said Spider-Man. “All good, actually. You know you’re doing _something_ right when you can get Iron Man here to admit you’re a hero, but – hey – that’s beside the point. I wanted to talk to you about Peter. Want to come over here for a chat?”

“We’re not getting a dog in the tower are we? I hate dogs . . .”

“What? No! Just get over here, sheesh.”

Spider-Man led Wade over to the bar; it wasn’t too far from where the Avengers sat, so there was potential to be overheard, but he knew that his father’s friends would respect their privacy enough to give them some space. He leaned against the bar and folded his arms across his chest, while he fought an urge to web away Tony’s drink from him, and Wade – now kicking at the pattern of the carpet – stood opposite him with a confused expression.

They didn’t exactly stand in silence, as Wade quickly began to babble incoherently about his day and what he had for lunch. It was inane chatter, used solely to fill in a gap, and it was oddly reassuring as it gave Spider-Man time to think and time to gather his feelings together, but it also stretched out the inevitable and made him nervous. The stench of liquor also made him nauseous, which was hard to hide, and yet he needed to hide it lest Wade catch on about his secret identity. He felt . . . two-faced. He hoped Wade wouldn’t catch on.

“So – er – you’re having a kid?”

“Who told you that?” Wade quirked an eyebrow. “Petey ain’t sure; we’re just waiting on the results, but even then . . . who’s to say he’ll keep it? I don’t think he’d get rid of it, wouldn’t want him to, but shit happens . . . he could lose it . . . could be a false positive . . . neither one of us is cut out to be a parent, so probably best it don’t happen. Right, Spidey?”

“No one’s ever ready,” said Spider-Man. “I’ve never told anyone about this before, but I once had this girlfriend that got pregnant. We were terrified. _I_ was terrified. It makes sense that all the sympathy goes to the mother, but I think people forget how much pressure is also on the father, too. I spent every night wide-awake. I worried about if they got sick, if they would like me, if I would be a good dad . . . she lost the child eventually.”

“Shit, man, that’s what I mean! I bet you were all sad and heartbroken, and Petey wants us to go through all that? He talks about his past, like who died and stuff, but he never really talks about things like this . . . makes you wonder, huh? He’s got to be scared, too.”

“But it doesn’t always have to be bad. It can work out . . . like Ellie.”

“Hey, it’s cruel to get a guy’s hopes up.”

_–would be nice to be a daddy again, not like we were one before, we could learn from Ellie and not repeat the same mistakes – we missed Thanksgiving, not like that was the real Thanksgiving, aren’t we American? – kids can be cute, though! – drooling, laughing, pooping, playing – ‘Daddy’ has a nice ring to it, in a bedroom maybe, don’t pervert it! – seriously, daddy – hey, I could be a daddy again! – _

Spider-Man’s head began to ache. The pain was pretty intense, as he felt Deadpool’s erratic and constant thought processes overwhelm him, along with so many conflicting emotions that he felt a war inside his chest. There was a sense of panic at losing someone else he loved, as well as a huge sense of adoration for a child he could love unconditionally, and yet he could feel that sense of being ripped in two . . . love and hate, fear and excitement . . . until he began to wonder exactly how Wade held it all inside without screaming aloud.

“I – I know it’s a lot to think about, but –”

_–‘Daddy’: Daddy, Dad, Pops –_

“Daddy, I –”

Spider-Man felt his blood run cold. The humiliation swept over him like wave of ice, until he slowly turned his head over to the Avengers, where he hoped he would see some form of understanding of the situation. No one knew of his empathetic abilities, though, which meant no one knew that he was picking up on Wade’s _paternal_ feelings of love, and he saw them quirking their lips into smiles or – in Thor’s case – laughing loud enough to hurt his ears.

He felt his cheeks go insanely red, especially as he thought back to the time he and Wade had _tried_ dirty talk . . . he thought it’d be interesting, add some spice, and he rather enjoyed it, but – for Wade – it was as if someone had poured ice cold water over his erection. Wade’s past was murky and muddled, but he knew enough about his father to know _any_ reminder of him would _not_ be good for the bedroom. Spider-Man simply had to remind himself that Wade’s mind worked differently to most, and he didn’t mean it that way. Wade then said:

“Aw, someone got a secret kink?”

“Drop it, Deadpool.”

Spider-Man rounded on him and pointed his index finger in warning. He was too used to violence in costume, whether that was forcibly removing Wade’s mask or forcibly launching him into an explosion, and – since both dating and teaming up – he _swore_ never to cross that line again and respect his right to safety and space. The slip from the week before still devastated him, filled him with guilt, and he swore never to hurt anyone – much less Wade – like that again. It was just a shame that Wade could so easily push his buttons.

“You’re such a naughty boy,” teased Wade.

“I mean it. Drop it or die.”

“Does baby need a spanking? You’re –”

Spider-Man aimed a kick straight for Wade’s head. It was slow enough to give Wade ample time to react and dodge, but fast enough to force him out of his way, and – as he moved – Wade reacted exactly as planned: he dodged. Spider-Man thought nothing of it at first; it was normal for the two of them – even now they got on so well – to bicker and play-fight and seriously spar, but he noticed his leg sweep over Wade’s head and onto the bar.

He felt the bottle before he saw it, followed by the sound of glass smashing against the mirror behind the bar itself, and suddenly it wasn’t just a splatter of glass . . . it was a whole torrent of shards scattering everywhere upon the floor. Spider-Man looked on as horror, as he realised he’d missed Wade only to kick a bottle straight at the mirror. There was a sound of a chair scraping upon the floor. He heard Tony give a hiss of breath. The silence from the Avengers was rather telling, but the way his heart raced was even more so.

“You two have five seconds to run,” said Tony. “Five, four –”

“Good job I only need two,” replied Spider-Man.

Spider-Man quickly shot webbing at Wade; he made sure to stick the man’s feet to the floor, so Wade had no chance to possibly run, and then dove for the elevator doors to escape the wrath of his father. He knew Wade would hold a grudge against him for it, but he also knew Tony’s anger would be with him and not so much with Wade, and – if lucky – he would go pretty easy on Wade. If he screamed at Spider-Man instead, there was a chance his secret identity would come out due to Tony’s drunken state. Spider-Man paused at the doors.

“Thanks, Deadpool! I owe you one!”

“Bite me, Web-Head!”

 


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter Five

“You like that, baby boy?”

Wade aimed at an exact angle. He brushed against the perfect spot, enough that Peter saw flashes in his vision and felt a full body shudder, and the pleasure coursed through him enough to make his aching erection almost painful. The pre-come leaked onto his stomach, as the cut head bounced against pale skin, and – as he looked above him at Wade’s flushed red and scarred body – he realised that his partner was covered in sweat from exertion.

The sheets stuck to Peter’s back, as he was continuously pushed and pulled against them with the force of Wade’s thrusts, while his throat felt sore from the groans he couldn’t quite hold back and the cries he couldn’t quite keep quiet. There were tears down his cheeks, while his legs ached severely from their position wrapped around Wade’s waist, and every now and again Wade would have to reapply the lubrication. They had already come once each earlier that evening, so the room reeked of sex and sweat, but Peter no longer cared. It was too good.

“Sure we can’t use your camera?” Wade asked.

Wade panted as if he had ran a marathon. His brown eyes were dilated wide, blown open with absolute pleasure, and he struggled to keep his voice low throughout their session. The sheets had tangled around his legs, while his arms struggled to brace his weight and keep him from falling onto Peter, and Peter could still taste come upon his lips, as he remembered exactly how Wade had tasted and felt upon his tongue just an hour before. Wade moved quicker and quicker, hitting that spot each and every time, until Peter could no longer cope.

He let out a scream so loud that Wade was forced to silence him; a hand clasped over his mouth, just enough to muffle the sounds that came out, but with enough space to let him breathe without hindrance or feel uncomfortable in any form. Peter struggled to gain purchase on the sheets, already ripped and torn from his fingers, while the pleasure caused every inch of his skin to feel aflame and his breath to completely leave his body.

“S-shit, Petey! Keep quiet! Ellie’s right next door!”

Peter thrashed about, until he eventually he found purchase on Wade’s shoulders. He gripped tightly with the pads of his fingers, as he instinctively clenched around Wade’s length deep inside him and relished in the heat, and – as Wade struck again – he arched his back and let his fingernails drag patterns deep down his lover’s back. There was a brief moment of pain, followed by a stilling of Wade inside him, and he – _fuck, that hurts like shit! Probably ought to have told him about the sores being open and –_ felt an intense wave of guilt.

“D-did I hurt you?” Peter gasped out. “Wade?”

“Nah. Just give me a second.”

“How about this?”

Peter used all his strength to flip them over; a part of him wanted to use his webbing to keep Wade in place, but he knew better when his identity was so secret, and instead he gave his lover a deep kiss to make up for the temporary pain. The kiss was sloppy, but that was exactly how Wade enjoyed them in the heat of passion. He tasted leftover curry, as well as come and sweat, and he was tempted to kiss every sore and wound until there was nothing left to kiss, but instead settled for grabbing Wade’s length and positioning himself.

“P-pump me?” Peter asked. “Please?”

“Like you fucking need to ask.”

Peter sank down to the base. He felt Wade’s balls pressed against him, while pubic hair was rough and tickled him a little, and he was able to position himself perfectly at such an angle to hit his spot every damned time. Wade’s callused hand encircled his length; he would dip inside the slit with his thumb, occasionally twisting his wrist to add to the stimulation, and Peter felt the pleasure slowly overcome him. He grew dizzy. He grew breathless.

“Touch yourself, Petey,” whispered Wade.

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through him, as he looked down to see Wade’s hungry expression and heard his desperate pants and gasps, and he knew exactly what Wade wanted to see and wanted to hear. He reached up to touch upon his nipples, while his partner continued to pump him below, and his other hand stroked over his neck and shoulder, before coming back down to rest over Wade’s hand and move with it in a fast rhythm. Wade came at the sight of what sat above him. Peter felt the come go deep.

Wade bit his lip to the point of bleeding, desperate to hold back a scream, as he pumped three final times inside of Peter and began to soften, as his body flushed red and his eyes rolled back into their sockets. It was erotic enough to tip Peter over the edge, as he felt a wave of pleasure overcome him and utterly consume him. It felt like a flood over his skin, until the rock of his orgasm shook through him, and his muscles clenched in time to the sensations.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, sweetums,” said Wade.

Peter threw a hand to his mouth; he bit onto a closed fist, unable to handle the feelings any longer, as rope after rope of come shot from him and over Wade’s stomach, until he looked painted like an abstract work of art. Eventually, Peter fell sated onto the side of the bed, where Wade’s member slid from him soft and spent, and a trickle of come ran down his thigh. He felt his hole twitch at the absence. The sheets felt cold against his hot skin. Wade soon pulled Peter against him, acting as the ‘big spoon’ for once, and hummed contently.

“I wasn’t too loud, was I?” Peter asked quietly.

He felt Wade pull the sheets up over them, as Peter lazily looked about the room. It was hard to see the floor with clothing scattered everywhere, while – somehow – a pair of underpants had found itself hanging from the lampshade above, and Peter winced at the sight of come on one of the walls and the feathers pouring open from a torn pillow. There were bruises on his hips and cuts right down his back, which wasn’t to mention the many love bites.

“Well, Ellie banged on the door earlier,” admitted Wade.

“Oh God, she – she _heard_ some of that?”

“Kid’s twelve,” muttered Wade. “It ain’t like she’s going to be traumatised by it, is it? I think Preston’s already had ‘the talk’ with her, plus you didn’t say anything except ‘fuck’ over and over, and the door was locked anyway, but not like she’d have come in.”

Peter groaned in embarrassment and rolled onto his back. He fished around for the baby-wipes on the bedside table, kept around for such times when an immediate shower wasn’t on the cards, and wiped himself down of the worst fluids. There were many times when he would wipe down Wade, too, usually with a massage and rubbing in various skin oils, but this time Wade made it clear that he simply wanted to bask in the moment. Wade hummed contently; Peter threw the wipe away, before he laid his head on his partner’s chest.

“How much does sound-proofing cost?”

“You want to get sound-proofing?” Wade asked. “What’s the point? We got way too much else to focus on, ain’t we? You given what Strange said any thought? I don’t want to start planning nursery colour yet, not if you don’t want to keep it or anything.”

“Hmm? I don’t know.” Peter gave a loud sigh. “I mean, I _do_ know, but I don’t. That doesn’t make any sense, does it? It’s like – it’s like I’m _glad_ the results were positive, because I always wanted another child, but I also know you have huge doubts and fears about it, so I’m really not sure what to do, because shouldn’t we deal with that first? I – I’m babbling, aren’t I? Oh God, we’re having a baby, but everything’s still so crazy and –”

“Don’t worry about it, Petey. I ain’t going to lie, as I really don’t think I’m ready for some puking ball of poop, but . . . it’s your body and your choice. I think the only choice I got is to be a parent or not; I honestly don’t know if I can make that choice yet, but I can choose to be there for you and to try my best. I _want_ to want to be a parent. I do, Petey-Pie!”

“We need to talk about this, don’t we? Between Ellie and work and –”

“– being an Avenger? Lot to put on a kid.”

Peter gave a sigh, as he felt around for the remote. It wasn’t exactly romantic, plus he knew the television would eventually distract them from a serious conversation, but there was still _months_ until the baby would arrive and plenty of time to talk. Peter found the remote underneath a sock, just on the bedside table, and the cool plastic felt good against his warm skin and was something of a comfort. He flicked the television onto a new station, where a certain news reporter was asking where Spider-Man was lately, as if the man cared.

“I’ve – er – been meaning to talk,” said Peter. “It’s about my mutation.”

Wade glanced over to Peter with a confused expression. He scratched at his private area, which was hardly an attractive sight, while Peter plumped the pillows behind him and sat up with a crick of the neck, and soon Wade sat up beside him. Wade made sure to cuddle against him, with one arm draped over his shoulders, and his free hand held loosely to Peter’s wrist, even though it made flicking channels difficult and was slightly uncomfortable.

“What about it, snookums?”

“I – I – well – I didn’t tell you everything,” muttered Peter. “You know my uncle died when I was still a teenager, right? Well, the stress trigged a mutation in me . . . it turns out I was carrying the x-gene. Bruce looked me over . . . Strange, too . . . I – er – can carry young, like you already know, but there’s other stuff. There’s one I haven’t told anyone, actually, not even Aunt May or Pops or MJ. So, this first one is just between us, okay?”

There was a silence in the air. They always made sure to leave the television on mute during the night, using only the subtitles for information, as no one wanted to disturb Ellie or wake her up unnecessarily, but – in light of earlier activities – it felt rather ironic. Still, Peter watched as the news revealed some disturbances in the town, something Spider-Woman and White Tiger were handling well, and he wondered whether now was the best time to tell Wade the truth. There was a baby on the way. Spider-Man was out of commission. He –

“You’ve been keeping secrets?” Wade asked sadly.

“Yeah,” admitted Peter. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you, Wade. It honestly isn’t. I just didn’t want you to worry or change around me . . . it’s – it’s hard to explain. I have this empathic power, on top of the male pregnancy and some others, so I can _feel_ what other people are feelings, sometimes I can even hear their thoughts. It’s – er – _bad_.”

“You’re shitting me, right? How is that bad?” Wade bit playfully on his shoulder. “Ain’t that a good thing? You know when to shut up, when to talk, when someone wants to put your head in a blender and hand in a toaster, when it’s time to get out of dodge, when –”

“– when your alcoholic father thinks you’re a burden, but then feels so guilty about that thought he wants to drink himself to death. What about when a guy you think was your friend touches you up, but you just hear words like ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ from him the whole time, which makes it so much worse. How about when you can feel the sheer terror from your girlfriend as she falls _God knows_ how many feet, then feel _nothing_ . . . nothing . . .”

Peter felt Wade’s pain and sadness. The older man didn’t need empathetic abilities to feel said empathy and know what his lover experiences, because Wade had those kinds of experiences himself growing up: alcoholic father, sexual abuse, and even the death of a girlfriend. The only difference was Wade only knew what they told him, but not what was inside of their heads, which was a blessing as what Wade told himself was often worse than anything his worst enemies could create. Wade stiffened against him with a hiss of breath.

“I didn’t want you to censor your thoughts,” whispered Peter. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty for _feeling_ or ashamed for just _thinking_ , because no one can control what goes on inside their heads, and sometimes things like mental illness can be a bitch to deal with, let alone when you feel like someone’s judging you for it. I love you. I didn’t want you to change.”

“Why would I change? It’s not as though I’d stop loving you.” Wade gave a pout. “I ain’t going to lie; I’m hurt you didn’t trust me, Petey, but I can get it because sometimes I do get bad thoughts and it’d be stressful to feel like I’d have to stop them. Glad you told me now.”

“Yeah, I remember when we first met. You’ve changed a lot.”

“We both have, haven’t we? All for the better.”

There was a clear smile from Wade, as he began to kiss Peter’s upper arm. It was enough to make Peter roll his eyes and push Wade off, but the playful laugh soon turned into something sad and quiet, as Wade’s baleful eyes watched him with great intent. The wave of sadness was hard to miss, although with it came a sense of relief that finally Peter had opened up to him, and soon Peter realised the feelings were also his, and there was something about revealing the truth that brought them closer. Wade soon gave a sigh and said:

“I used to play Russian roulette, way before I met you.”

“Yeah, I _saw_ that once.” Peter paled and shuddered. “You were depressed and having a bad day, and I remember the image so clearly . . . I felt it, too . . . it was all in your head, but for you it was real, so it may as well have _been_ real. It was when I realised that sometimes the things Spider-Man said to you were _way_ out of line. You deserved better.”

“Nah, Spidey is my hero! Sorry you had to see that, though. It’s a good job you didn’t tell me back then, ‘cause I think I would have ended up doing something stupid, just so you wouldn’t have to see what was in my head. I’d have been all torn up. Now’s different.”

“I know. I like that we can trust each other, which is why –”

“Hey, take that off mute! Unmute! Unmute!”

Peter gave a long groan and turned the volume up. He knew his lover was easily distracted, but he had hoped they could have a serious discussion before something shiny crept onto the screen. The news reporter spoke quickly and with a sense of panic, while images of the Goblin flashed by and White Tiger clutched a bloody wound, and soon Peter felt a wash of absolute horror seep over him. Spider-Man was indefinitely off-duty. Even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t as though he could sneak away without telling Wade the truth.

“I better get out there,” said Wade. “Watch Ellie for me?”

“Er, yeah, of course,” whispered Peter.

He watched the television is stunned silence, while Wade fetched a spare uniform from the closet and dressed with an incredible speed, and he barely even noticed as Wade ran straight out the door, down the stairs, and out of the front door. White Tiger was one of his best friends, but he could see blood and the damage to her side kept her from the fight, and it was left to Spider-Woman alone to keep the Goblin at bay. Wade would need to be quick.

It was difficult to fight the urge to get out there and support his team.

Peter swallowed back his worry and whispered:

“Good luck.”

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter Six

“That all you got, Goblin?”

Wade dodged an oncoming object. It was hard to see through the small eyepieces, made worse by how his vision was cloudy that evening, and the darkness only added shadows where shadows had no reason to exist. The street was pretty deserted, except for Spider-Woman and White Tiger, but that didn’t stop fires from erupting by upturned cars or broken store windows. There was also a piece of glass in his chest. It hurt like fuck.

He reached down with a gloved hand to grab the glass; the leather slipped against the bloody surface, as he pulled out the piece from the wound, and he felt a momentary sense of dizziness as blood spurted from the wound. It was disorientating, but nothing unbearable. The pain was the worst part, as he applied pressure with a hand and waited for the wound to close, and it felt like someone was searing the edges of the open flesh with a red-hot razor. He dropped the glass to the ground and caught his breath in the doorway.

“Oh, you cock-guzzling butt-muncher!”

The object from earlier – most likely a bomb – began to tick rapidly in a succession of beeps, before it exploded with a scattering of debris and plaster . . . _most definitely a bomb_. It almost sounded like trickling water or rain, with only the annoying blows of brick acting as a reminder that it was something far more than that, while that _prick_ laughed like some Saturday morning cartoon from his flying skateboard thing. Wade flicked a piece of mortar from his shoulder, before he stepped forward into the street with a shout.

“You wait until Spidey gets here, ass-face!”

“Spidey’s not coming,” called Tiger.

The Goblin swooped low, forcing Wade into a run and duck. He managed to avoid a slash of a sword-like weapon by a mere few inches, as the Goblin went high again into the air above, as if he belonged there and not below. It was almost pretty. The flashing lights from photographs at the ends of the street, along with car headlights and helicopter lights from above, gave the place a nice glow and reflected from the four of them pretty well.

Wade stood up and reached back for his swords. The hilts were familiar to the touch, something he hadn’t realised he craved, and – as he pulled them crossed before his face – he kissed the blades of each in a mock blessing. _Much better children than children_. He swung them lazily, listening to the ‘swish’ noise that could only come from fiction, before he realised the noise was Tiger’s claws catching on the bastard’s scooter-magig, while the ‘thwip’ came from Spider-Woman’s webbing. They were hogging the action.

“So where’s Spidey?” Wade asked.

He ran fast and stabbed upwards at the perfect moment; he disabled the flying contraption, sending the Goblin hurtling down to earth and skidding on concrete, while Tiger pounced between them and stood up with grace and beauty. Even as a taken man, he could appreciate her perfect curves and posture. He always teased that she’d be the perfect girlfriend, if he were single, but she always reacted with a noise that made it clear that she was trying to think of an excuse before he could joke ‘just kidding’. Tiger flexed her talons – _claws_ – angrily.

“Out of commission,” she explained.

“What? How? The guy’s like super special awesome!”

“The guy’s got a real-life family.” Tiger stood aside, as Spider-Woman webbed the Goblin. “I’m not going to say too much, as Spidey can give you the full scoop, but dude’s taking a vacation from superhero work . . . just for a while. Up to us to pull his weight.”

_Doesn’t something seem wrong about that?_

“Whatever happened to with great –”

There was a loud clicking noise, before the Goblin managed to use some sort of device to rip apart the webbing, and – with a throw of one of those bombs – Spider-Woman was sent hurtling across the street and against a metal balcony above a storefront. The crack that came was almost sickening, but she fell flat on the floor in a way that made it clear she was still breathing, which allowed Wade to turn his attention’s elsewhere. Tiger used her communication device – _looks more like a watch_ – to call for back up.

“Well, well, well,” said the Goblin.

He struggled to stand, but there was something in his hand that was clearly a weapon. It looked like another bomb, perhaps a smoke device or just an explosive device, but Tiger raised a hand to signal Wade to keep back. The signal didn’t work. He lunged at the Goblin and found himself surprised when the man dodged with ease, before he thrust his sword again as a strange dance began between them, and soon the Goblin took a jump backwards.

Tiger cursed at Wade and made to stop the Goblin, but – whatever he held – was soon pressed and a spare flying-thing shot through the air, until it was close enough for the Goblin to jump and fly out of reach. They would need to get creative to catch him now. The strange thing was that he didn’t seem intent on escaping, rather he seemed to _want_ to linger and _wanted_ to taunt them, and there was a breeze from the jets on the back of his scooter that was oddly cooling, so Wade almost didn’t mind that much. The Goblin laughed and said:

“Spider-Man does love his secrets.”

“What the fuck does that mean, shit-for-brains?”

“Tell me, what is it like dating Peter Parker?” The Goblin flew a foot back. “I thought nothing of such a man dating a creature like you, but that was before your comment on Spider-Man’s sabbatical. Did neither Spider-Man nor Peter tell you why the absence?”

Tiger let out a low hiss and physically pulled Wade back. He lifted his sword in warning at the Goblin, ready to dive at him and give it his all, even if it meant pulling a grenade from his pouch or crossing many lines to get to him. There was something odd about Peter not telling him why Spidey was taking time off, sure, as they were friends and Peter made money on the side from his photographs, but they had separate lives and trusted on another. It wasn’t uncommon to have a few ‘secrets’, right? Tiger struggled to hold him back.

“Don’t listen to him,” she snapped.

The Goblin laughed again, as he flew off to the side. Wade and Tiger ran after him; the older man headed into the alley, so that he became at a disadvantage, but Wade could guess he simply wanted privacy for what he was about to do or say to them. The world was watching, but the world couldn’t see them in this enclosed alley that reeked of piss and come and stale alcohol. Wade began to doubt the reputation of this neighbourhood, as the Goblin said:

“Your boyfriend _is_ Spider-Man,” said the Goblin.

Wade felt his blood run to ice. Tiger struggled to move him; he felt her arms around him, as she tried to pull him back and whispered that Peter had good reasons to hide the truth, but he stood still as stone and simply glared at the Goblin coldly. There was a lump in his throat, as the rage at being lied at consumed him. He wondered why Peter lied. The question didn’t last long as his heart raced and limbs grew numb, because he knew that this meant the Goblin knew about his family and his boyfriend’s secret identity. The rage couldn’t be contained.

“ _You_ _fucking blood-soaked rag_!”

“Temper, temper,” teased the older man. “Tell me, Wilson, do you know what it’s like to lose a child? No? You will. Peter stole my son from me; my boy is dead and I will not let his death go without vengeance, which is why you ought to run home . . . say goodbye while you can, Wilson. Tell me what it’s like when you both cradle your daughter in your arms.”

“You sick shit!” Wade felt his blood boil. “You got a bomb there? You got people waiting to bust in? Whatever you’ve done, you’re going to fail! When I get back here, I’m ripping off your arms and making you fucking _eat_ them for what you’ve done!”

“Stop talking, Deadpool,” commanded Tiger. “Just get out there!”

“What the fuck about here?”

Tiger managed to catch him off guard. The white of her outfit was stained red about his chest and abdomen, where many cuts had caught her during the battle, and yet she stood resilient before him with great confidence. He felt her staring into his eyes, as she tried to convince him to go straight back home. The fear from her was palpable, nearly as much as what he felt in turn, and her fingers dug so tightly into his arms that he felt his skin bruise.

“Nova, Fist and Cage are on their way,” she confessed.

He made to turn on the Goblin, ready to fight the man to the death, but she held tight and threw him in the opposite direction. Wade struggled to keep balance on his feet, until he spun and pointed his sword in her direction, where he used the blade for weight to keep his body in check where he stood. Tiger bared her claws and jumped high; Wade thought she was ready to attack him, but instead she landed on the back end of the Goblin’s Goblin-Machine and slashed straight for his head. The two began an intricate fight midair.

“Get out of here, Deadpool! Now!”

Wade knew there wasn’t any choice: Peter needed him. He spun on his heels and ran straight through the barricades, as he ignored the cries from S.H.I.E.L.D. agents about needing every available man, while some stray heroes called out for him to wait, and soon he was racing through the streets to get back home as quickly as possible. The fear was agonising. It consumed him and raged within him and his mask felt wet with tears.

_Please, still be alive . . ._

* * *

_The flames were everywhere . . ._

_Wade struggled to get close to the house; fire-trucks blocked most of the street, while policemen and stray Avengers clung to the perimeter, and the smell of smoke was so overwhelming that it clung to his lungs and choked him. He couldn’t breathe. The beating of his heart was loud enough to deafen him, like a drum that cut off all other sounds, and there was the sharp taste of bile and acid at the back of his mouth. He wanted to be sick._

_The burns were hard to remember . . . screams at him not to go in, arms trying to hold him back, and a nose broken as he broke away . . . beams snapped and walls collapsed . . . he couldn’t climb the stairs, already gone, while the framed picture of the ultrasound was shattered on the ground. The smoke made him dizzy. He couldn’t see._

_Plates in the kitchen still held food . . . Ellie’s favourite cereal? No, she couldn’t die. He didn’t spend this energy to save her, just to watch her die . . . no bodies . . . where were the bodies? Images of the camp flooded his mind: piles of corpses, none to be saved, and all his fault. Where was Wolverine now? Where was Captain America? Got to get out. Got to find them. The Goblin planned this . . . distracted Wade, now an Avenger . . . pain. Hurts so much. Everything is black. Head hits counter. Darkness._

_. . ._

_‘– burned in fire –’_

_‘– mutant – always looks – go –’_

_‘– no one else – check –’_

_. . ._

_Wade looked up. The pain was blinding; leather had melted onto skin or burned away, while his legs barely worked, and his eyes still saw in shadows. Preston knelt over him. The lawn underneath him smelled funny, like ashes and morning dew, while sirens made his ears hurt and he felt like he could weep. Her touch was soft, but it hurt. He wondered if skin came away from him and clung to her. He wanted to die. They were gone._

_‘Wade, listen to me,’ said Preston. ‘Peter and Ellie are fine. The explosion went off in the kitchen, but Ellie and Peter were racing to the door at the time. I’d come to pick Ellie up. I saw the whole thing. Peter shielded Ellie and me, taking most of the brunt, but Ellie is perfectly fine and Peter is stable. They’re alive. You need to go to the tower.’_

_No. No, they’re gone. Everything I touch turns to shit. They all leave me. They all die. I promise her that I’d protect her: zombie lawn and ghosts and awesome defences, but no match for a fucking bomb, eh? I failed. I failed and now they’re dead._

_‘You need to get to Avengers Tower. They’re okay.’_

_All gone. All dead. All gone._

* * *

Peter felt weak.

It was strange to wake in a new place; the walls were all white and the world seemed to spin, so that the voices of people around him were alien, and he felt like he was somehow on a whole other planet, as he tried to focus his eyes. There was a sterile smell of soaps or medicines, while the bed felt stiff and cold, like it wasn’t really made for long-term use or even short-term comfort. He tried to move his body, but something pulled at his arm.

He looked down to see a drip in the crook of his arm, with the tube leading to a bag beside him, and finally noticed that he was dressed in a hospital gown. Flashes of the explosion flooded back to him. He felt a sense of dread as he remembered diving over Ellie, pulling her into an impossibly close hold, and how everything went black so quickly that he had no time to process what was happening around him. Where was Ellie? He felt his heart begin to race, as he forced himself to sit up and heard a machine to his right quickly beep.

“H-hello?” Peter called out.

A noise came from across the room; Steve appeared quickly into sight, where Peter’s eyes just about adjusted to the other man in his vision, and soon was at Peter’s side. He babbled about something that Peter couldn’t quite make out, while he pulled off the sensors on his chest and let them drop, before he called out for Bruce to remove the cannula that was oddly uncomfortable and yet not quite painful. Ellie wasn’t around, but Bruce – from some unseen point and looking quite dishevelled was soon by his side.

“Are you well enough to move?” Bruce asked.

“I – I don’t know?” Peter felt a wave of nausea. “Why?”

He gave a hiss of breath as the tube was removed. That part always seemed to hurt the most, enough that he was glad for the distraction, but it did leave a stab of nervousness when Bruce made to remove the cannula . . . luckily, there was no pain at all. He didn’t have time to thank Bruce on his skill, as he was being forced to swing his legs over the side and slippers were shoved onto his feet. Steve came around and picked Peter up by the crooks of his arms, supporting almost all his weight, while the younger man struggled to so much as stand.

“Where’s . . . Ellie? I want Ellie.”

“Ellie is fine,” said Steve. “Do you remember the explosion? We think the Goblin set up the attack in the city centre; it was a distraction to get to you and Ellie, and it’s lucky your spider-sense went off right as Preston came over. If you had waited even a second to run, you might not be here right now. Ellie’s been moved to a safe house with Pepper.”

“A s-safe house? Why? I – I want my daughter here.”

“Listen, Peter. The Goblin has been keeping tabs on you since Harry died.” Steve partially dragged him to the doors. “White Tiger has sent word that she’s struggled to contain him, while S.H.I.E.L.D. confirmed over radio that you made it out okay.”

There was a heavy noise nearby, almost like a crash. Peter reached down to his stomach, as fear and confusion kicked in, and Bruce whispered briefly that the baby was fine, while they paused at the door and the doctor carefully peaked out to survey beyond. A second later, Bruce signalled Steve to carry Peter out into the room beyond, while a veil of dust and smoke clung to the air and made it difficult to see. There was a hiss from nearby of electricity.

“The Goblin knows you’re here,” whispered Bruce.

Peter felt his stomach churn. That explained why Pepper and Ellie were far away, both likely with other people close to Steve and Tony, and it explained why they were now in a rush to get him out of the building. Hospitals wouldn’t be able to deal with a pregnant man, while the X-Men were too far out, and the Avengers Tower was the overall next best thing, except – of course – when the Goblin was intent on taking his life and could accurately deduce where he would be given circumstances. Peter just prayed Ellie’s removal was secret.

“We’re going to get you out of here safely,” promised Steve.

“I just – I just want Ellie and Wade . . .”

There was another crash, before a gust of air blew from the now open windows. Peter was forced to cling to his stepfather’s arm for support, as he threatened to fall over, and Bruce could be heard breathing deeply with hissed breaths, desperate to control himself in this confined space. Peter caught sight of someone familiar stepping onto the floor; he caught the blurred image of what looked like the Goblin, while his hand rested over his unborn child.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry that Harry died.”

“You will be,” said the Goblin. “You will be.”


	7. Chapter 7

# Chapter Seven

Peter felt a real panic.

It was made worse by Bruce’s fears, both legitimate and unjustified, regarding his reactions and the ‘other guy’ inside him. He could feel Bruce’s desire not to have responsibility thrust upon him, but his need to get Peter to safety and desperation to keep the unborn child alive, and he could sense Steve’s righteous anger bleeding into those same emotions. It began to suffocate him, until he no longer knew how he felt, and his head began to sting with pain.

The Goblin before him was a blur; he could see only an ill-defined shape, along with the long sword in his hands that looked all too familiar, and he wondered whether this man had stolen the weapon from Wade at some point. Those eyes, though -! Peter could see the Goblin’s eyes, narrowed and filled with a sheen of water, and he sensed from him the emotions just as strong as the others – _my son gone and his murderer lives, but no one cares about this injustice, my pain is nothing to them, my legacy gone, he needs to know –_ and he felt faint.

“It’s time you pay, Parker,” said the Goblin.

There was a glint of light upon the sword. It twinkled in a way that the dried blood looked almost black, beautiful in a strange way, and Peter found himself lost in reflection. The spider-sense screamed at him, echoing about his skull until the pounding pain almost sent him hurtling to the floor, but he felt far too weak to move or dodge. The Goblin raised the sword high, while Peter swayed on his feet and clung to his stepfather desperately, and – as the sword descended – he thought only about his child. He would lose his child.

“ _Take him and go,_ ” cried Steve.

Peter felt a shove upon his arm, as he was thrown against Bruce. The destroyed room swam in and out of his vision, as speckles of coloured light filled his sights, and he felt an intense wave of nausea as bare arms – _hair peaking out from underneath short-sleeves, a few scars from a life hard lived_ – caught him and kept him upright. There was a surprising strength to Bruce, even if he lacked the muscles of his peers, and he supported Peter well.

“I’ve got him.” Bruce pulled him away. “Don’t worry.”

“Hadn’t planned on it, Banner.”

He was being dragged away. He turned his head; Bruce kept them at a quick pace toward the staircase, but Peter wished he hadn’t looked back. Steve was at a disadvantage. The Goblin had struck down and Steve had blocked the sword with his forearm, sacrificing his own safety in his attempt to save Peter, and the red blood dripped down over his grey t-shirt and white skin, staining both violently like nothing else. Steve’s face was caught in a grimace, while his posture proved he’d moved his arm to block the space where Peter had been.

Steve let out a cry of pain, as he spun to his side and lowered his arm in the process. It enabled him to catch the Goblin at a disadvantage. The villain was sent hurtling forward, while Steve took the chance to grab the back of his head and rammed it against the wall, and there came a sickening crunch of broken bone and the wall was stained with horrendous colours beyond imagination. Peter swayed and felt himself fall faint, caught again by Bruce.

“Oh, no,” whispered Bruce. “Not yet. I can’t carry you, if you faint.”

“Am I – am I supposed to be out of bed? I feel really . . .”

“There’s a safe room below. W-we’ll talk then.”

Ah, there was the familiar fear. Bruce didn’t want to be locked in a room with Peter, not any more than Peter wanted to be on his feet headed to the staircase, but the safe-room would survive anything and everything. Even if the building were turned to rubble, that room would still make it without so much as a dent inside. Peter stumbled over broken pieces of brick and metal, as he realised the upper floors began to collapse with the damage sustained, and smoke filled his lungs and stung his eyes. He felt tears rise and coughed to clear his throat.

He heard a cry of pain from behind him, where he looked and briefly caught sight of Steve skidding along the floor with a thick bruise upon his eye, and – as he made to run to him – Bruce grabbed him by his wrist and yanked him back. The movement caused him to fall faint; he had no awareness of passing out, but he awoke with his body bent in two and Bruce’s arms around his waist in an attempt to hold him up, as he was dragged back.

They stumbled down the emergency staircase onto Tony’s floor. Peter sighed in relief as doors were thrown open; a fresh breeze gave him a sense of hope, and he caught the familiar scents of liquor and oil and takeaway food. It was the scent of a mechanic that failed to take care of himself. Bruce moved them with speed, so that Peter tripped over his feet and was dragged painfully by his armpits, and – as they moved – he caught sight of blueprints and scraps of notebooks. Bruce must have been acting the part of scientist to Tony’s engineer, and it looked like they’d dragged things from the laboratory below upstairs into the lounge.

“There’s medical equipment in the safe room,” whispered Bruce.

They stopped outside a large pair of doors, which were familiar and yet unfamiliar, and Peter found himself propped against the wall next to them. He slid down onto the floor and let his head fall back, while he closed his eyes and heard Bruce stumble to type in a code, but a voice that sounded like F.R.I.D.A.Y. began to interact with them. The world looked black and felt cold . . . his mind swam in a strange manner . . . he then felt Bruce slap his cheeks lightly, which brought him around and woke him up. Peter rubbed at his eyes.

“The room – er – was meant to hold the other guy.” Bruce chewed his lip and continued: “It was my condition on returning after what happened with Ultron. I wanted a space where I could lock myself in or be locked in . . . technically, it’s my suite. You’ll be safe.”

“I – I have a concussion, don’t I? You sure the baby’s safe?”

“Sure as I can be without running more checks.”

The doors to the suite opened up. The inside was pretty bare, but Peter could see a great deal of medical equipment and general science equipment, and – the biggest relief of all – there was a single bed pressed against the far wall with a plumped pillow that waited patiently for a head. Peter felt a large swell of relief, as he climbed to his feet. He made to enter the room, only to hear another crash behind him and felt Bruce wrench him away and into his arms, so that he was pressed against his friend’s chest and relied on him for balance.

He felt the pain before he realised its cause. There was a sharp sting on his back, while the familiar heat of blood poured over his skin and stuck the gown to his flesh, and he realised – were it not for Bruce’s quick reflexes – he would have been cut across his stomach. The pain was sharp and caused him to arch his back, as he tried to reach the wound, but there wasn’t time for any kind of action. Bruce threw him violently into the suite.

“Leave Peter alone,” warned Bruce.

The floor felt cold, enough to wake Peter from his daze. He rolled onto his back and braced himself on his elbows, where he caught sight of the older man’s eyes and how they turned a dangerous shade of green, and – for a brief moment – he felt a momentary shock of terror, as he knew the danger that the Hulk could bring. Bruce’s hand was poised over the control-pad, as he prepared to slam and lock shut the door on Peter, but the Goblin appeared to advance regardless of the danger. He could feel the Goblin – _resignation, rage._

 _‘You heard him, shit-stain. Back off_.’

Peter recognised the voice. He caught sight of Wade’s shadow before he saw Wade himself, and instantly he felt every muscle in his body relax with relief. It was enough to bring a few tears to his eyes; there was a churning in his stomach, which served to remind him of his unborn child, while the cut on his back burned and screamed for attention. He focused his eyes upon Wade, desperate to tell him that he was okay, but his mouth was dry and his throat felt aflame. No words came out and Wade stepped ever close to the Goblin.

Wade looked in a bad way, but he was standing in full health. The leather uniform had burned or melted away in places, so that his modesty was barely covered, and there was a horrible smell of smoke and burnt flesh that clung to him. It made Peter retch painfully, until he caught his breath and calmed himself. Wade had sword drawn, the twin of the one in Goblin’s hand, and he pointed it directly at the villain’s throat.

“No one messes with my family,” said Wade coldly.

The sword moved with inhuman speed.

Wade and the Goblin moved almost at once, so the only sound that could be heard was metal upon metal and the grunt of physical exertion, and Peter struggled to keep up with the movements, until Wade had managed to throw the Goblin to the ground. The point of the sword was pressed against the man’s throat, so that a bead of blood bubbled forth and clung to the metal, and soon the Goblin became to pant in pain. Sadly, he already had made a move.

The other sword had been raised when the two fell: the other sword impaled Wade. Wade looked in the throes of agony, mask torn and burned enough to reveal his face, but he kept his place knelt above the Goblin and kept his sword pointed at him. The blade through his stomach would not prevent him from getting revenge, not least when he would heal within minutes once the blade was removed, but the pain seared through the empathetic bond – _hot, hurts, like fire on skin, fucking gimp stuck me like a pig –_ and Peter felt for him.

“Is this where you kill me, Wilson?”

“Only ‘cause Petey’s watching,” spat Wade. “If he weren’t here, I’d castrate you with a blunt pencil and shove this sword up your asshole. I’d make myself a Goblin puppet. Might force Cap to kick me out the Avengers, but I think people would like watching you dance in front of the tower, right? It’d be fun. You’d be dead by then, so maybe not fun for _you_ , but maybe we can dress your corpse up a bit or something. Still, got to make this quick for him.”

“Tell me, did your little girl survive?” The Goblin laughed. “Ah, well, the chances are _that_ child won’t survive. You’ll know what it’s like to lose a child, mark my words. I swear that you’ll finally know what is true pain, and then you will –”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!”

The sword slid into the Goblin’s throat with a sickening sound. There was a gush of blood, as he seemed to choke on his own bodily fluids, and his hands clung and cloyed at the metal blade in desperation, and – unable to watch someone else die – Peter rolled onto his side and began to cough until said coughing became retching and retching became vomiting. The taste was unbearable and the acid burnt the back of his throat, and he felt his eyes water with the pain and fear that overwhelmed him. It was difficult to stay awake.

He caught sight of Wade removing the sword from his stomach; the sound made Peter groan and roll onto his back, as he felt an intense wave of nausea overcome him, and soon the room began to spin and he became overly aware of every sensation in his body. The overall silence after such a battle disorientated him. There were the footsteps of Bruce rushing over to him, while Wade muttered things almost incoherently, and somewhere above something snapped.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed,” whispered Bruce.

Peter let himself fall mostly asleep, as someone pulled him up into their arms and carried him over to the bed with gentle movements. He felt something cold, which reminded him of the leather of Wade’s uniform, and soon he was flat against cool sheets and plump pillows. Peter smiled loosely to himself; he barely noticed his wound being tended, or the change of his now dirty gown, and the feeling of a new drip into his arm was uncomfortable enough to jolt him awake. Wade’s brown eyes stared down at him, while the Goblin’s body was dragged away in the distance by what looked like Clint and Natasha. Wade nodded to the body.

“You know,” said Wade, “my ex-wife hit better than that.”

“Which one?” Peter teased. “You have a few.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about him any more, baby boy.” Peter flinched, as he tried to avoid looking at Wade’s goofy smile. “He’s gone for good. Preston told me Ellie’s all safe, so we just got to focus on you now, huh? You feel okay? No bad stuff?”

“I think the explosion gave me a concussion. I feel badly bruised all over, but nothing feels broken, only . . . I have some cuts on my legs and lower back, so I think I may have lost some blood. They keep putting me on a drip and I keep feeling woozy, you know? I know hospitals scare you, so you don’t have to stay . . . not if you don’t want to stay. The Goblin cut my back, too, but it feels shallow and should heal fine. What about Pops and Steve?”

“I ran into Wanda on the way up,” said Wade calmly. “Your pops is with Steve; guy got hit pretty bad, even for a super soldier, so he’s being patched up. Don’t worry about Ava, either, as Nova got to her in time and took her to the Helicarrier for treatment. Ellie’s over with Pepper in some far off place, right? So all we got to focus on is you.”

“I feel like I could sleep for weeks. I feel half-dead.”

“Hence why all the attention’s on you.”

Wade slid down next to the bed with a heavy movement. It pulled at the sheets, but not enough to cause any real discomfort, and he rested his head against the mattress not far off from the pillow. Peter stretched his hand out to touch his partner’s head, where he noticed the remains of the mask finally gone from his skin. The flesh felt cool to the touch, fully healed from anything that struck it earlier, and Wade gave a sigh at the touch, as he asked:

“It true that you’re Spidey?”

Peter felt a sense of cold dread; he felt the anger seeping from Wade, as well as the feeling of betrayal and sense of frustration, and there was no doubt this would lead to long talks between them, assuming it was something from which they could recover. He held tight onto Wade, although his grip was weak and he also strove not to aggravate Wade’s sores and scabs, and his heart began to race in fear. There was a steady beep from machines next to him, which only grew faster in tempo, and soon Bruce shouted something at Wade.

It was difficult to concentrate, but soon Wade sat at the edge of the bed and held his face in two callused hands, while Bruce injected something into the cannula and seemingly replaced the drip not long afterward. Peter felt calm almost at once. He noticed his eyes worked in double-vision, while his arms felt heavy like they belonged to someone else, and he could barely focus on the conversation at hand. Peter smiled as best as he could, as he asked in turn:

“Who told you?”

“The Goblin,” admitted Wade. “I should have spotted before now. Never saw you two together, while Spidey always had the best dating advice, and he even gave me bedroom advice once. Remember when you -? _Okay, okay,_ not in front of Bruce, _I know_!”

“I just want to know . . . do you hate me? I lied to you.”

“I don’t think I do, but there’s a lot to talk about.”

“That’s fair, I guess. I – I love you.”

Peter felt sleep begin to overtake him. There was a sensation of someone’s hand on his, followed by another over his stomach, and he half-suspected it was Wade’s way of reassuring himself about their baby. He closed his eyes and tried to stay awake, but the exhaustion was overwhelming in the face of everything they experienced. The truth was out now, which meant their entire relationship would need to be redefined, but all that mattered was the soft kiss Wade placed on his forehead and the soft words spoken.

“I love you, too,” said Wade. “I ain’t going to stop.”

“Not even now I lied to you?”

“Nope.”

It was enough to bring a tear to his eye. He could still sense the hurt from Wade, as well as the absolute terror that there were more secrets being hidden away, but he also sensed the love and adoration that made him feel – finally – safe. He whispered quietly:

“Thank you.”


	8. Chapter 8

# Chapter Eight

“Wakey, Petey!”

Peter let out a long groan. The room felt unfamiliar; the sheets underneath him were too stiff and had a sterile kind of smell, while the temperature was cool enough to be right on the edge between ‘comfortable’ and ‘uncomfortable’, and the whole place was far too quiet. He opened his eyes to see Wade leaning over him, where he wore a smile so large that it reassured Peter that – at the very least – he still had his lover in his life.

He moved a hand to his stomach, ignoring the way the drip-line caught and pulled at the back of his hand, before he realised he was in a hospital gown and still in Bruce’s suite on the lower floor of the Tower. There were machines beeping next to him, some connected to his chest and one to a clip on his finger, and a fan nearby blew a series of fresh air all around him, while the open doors revealed a string of figures walking by in a continuous line. He thought he recognised a few S.H.I.E.L.D. members, but the others were apparently workmen.

Wade sat at the edge of the bed. He had changed since the battle the night before, so that he was now dressed in a red hooded top and loose jeans, and he seemed so worried that he hadn’t even noticed his hood fallen back. There was a flush to his cheeks, while his brown eyes had softened considerably since the battle, and his hand came to rest over Peter’s, so that they were held together over his stomach. It felt good to be together.

“The baby’s okay,” said Wade.

Peter felt a surge of relief, as he let out a long hiss of breath. He let his head fall back onto the pillow, where he looked up at the ceiling with a smile, and soon he began to feel warm and contented even despite his setting. Wade’s hand was rough against his, so that flakes of skin came away with each gentle brush, but the only thing that mattered was that they were together and their baby was still with them. The three of them were there as one unit, and the only thing missing was Ellie, although she would be with them soon.

“How long have I been asleep?” Peter asked.

“Fourteen hours, I think,” chirped Wade. “Bruce did a whole check-up. He reckons it might be a boy, but didn’t want t’ make any promises . . . think he said you’re six weeks or sixteen or sixty? Something with six, but he’ll tell you later, I bet.”

“Dear God, I hope it’s not sixty.” Peter laughed warmly. “I can’t believe the baby is okay. He – he seemed so sure . . . t-the Goblin, I mean. It’d be justice, too, if anything happened, wouldn’t it? I’m so scared of losing our baby, Wade. _I’m so scared_. Harry was my best friend, we grew up together and did everything together, but I was the reason he died and I never paid for that crime . . . just like I never paid for Gwen or Uncle Ben or –”

“Hey, you’re babbling again, baby boy! Listen, if anyone deserves anything bad to happen to them, it wouldn’t be you!” Wade squeezed his hand. “You’re the one that goes out of his way to save people, that doesn’t act as a mercenary, that goes to May’s every evening just to check on her and bring her over a hot meal. You’re a saint, Petey!”

“Everyone I love dies, Wade. Everyone I love leaves me.”

Wade looked around the room, before he slid into a chair next to Peter. He pulled at something that felt awfully like a catheter, so that Peter let out a hiss of sharp discomfort, before Wade apologised and sat around the opposite side of the bed to avoid any wires or tubes. Bruce must have been in the adjoining room, either finally resting or working on any samples, while Tony was likely flitting between Ava and Steve to make sure they were okay, and Peter just wished he had been awake for his father’s visits, as Tony would have visited.

They sat in silence, as Peter felt an overwhelming wave of emotion. He remembered how Ben’s blood felt on his hands, as well as how cold Gwen’s body felt to the touch, and he remembered Harry’s look of betrayal moments before he died. Peter reached his free hand to his chest, where he let it rest over his heart and tried to hold back the tears, but the fear was absolutely real: he couldn’t lose his unborn son. The sadness overwhelmed him.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Wade asked. “May and Tony are here, too.”

It was certainly true that they were constants in his life. Peter forced himself to smile, as he tasted warm and salty tears upon his lips, and he tried to rationalise his losses by comparing them to all he gained during life. He squeezed tightly on Wade’s hand, now back over his stomach, and used him like an anchor. It took a great deal of effort to filter out Wade’s emotions, along with his worry and grief, but soon Peter was able to differentiate between their feelings and realised that he was simply terrified of what may happen.

“I’m just . . . scared.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Wade asked.

“About Spider-Man?” Peter swallowed hard. “I tried to tell you yesterday, but the Goblin came and – and – and you know the rest . . . when Uncle Ben died, it triggered my mutation, so I became basically Spider-Man. There – there was the webbing, the sticking to surfaces, the spider-sense . . . also the ability to get pregnant, along with the heightened sense of empathy. It – it was the latter that motivated me to become Spider-Man, actually.”

Wade rubbed circles on the back of Peter’s hand; the small movements of his thumb felt like the entire world, reminding him of how his uncle would lie with his aunt against him, simply holding her hand and rubbing circles in that same manner. Peter envied their love. He spent his life trying to find something that even came close to it, but now he had Wade and he simply wished that he were able somehow to show Ben the man that Peter had become, especially the man Wade had become. They had changed one another for the better. Peter felt his eyes begin to sting, as tears began to well in the corners, but he held them back.

“I’d fought with Uncle Ben that morning,” whispered Peter. “I told him that I hated him and stormed out of the house, even though that meant I forgot to pick my aunt up in the process, and later on he came out to look for me. He caught up with me on a busy street. I got screamed at that ‘with great power comes great responsibility’, and that I owed it to my aunt to be a better person and to be a responsible person, because she sacrificed everything to keep me in her life, even if she couldn’t raise me herself. He was so _angry_.

“It – it was then this guy ran out past us. He had a gun and Uncle Ben pushed me behind him, but he made to grab for his phone and the man thought it was a gun . . . next thing I know -? He’s gone. I’m – I’m there with my hands over a gunshot wound, trying to say sorry to the man that was like a father to me, wondering why he had to die for my sake, and all I _hear_ is this voice saying he’s proud of me! How -? How can he proud of -?”

Peter could hold back the tears no longer. He raised his free hand to his eyes, desperate to try and hide them from sight, but Wade pulled his hand away and instead mopped away each and every tear with his fingers, which caused Peter to smile despite himself. Wade eventually let his free hand rest on his lover’s cheek, where he stroked him kindly and pulled away so that both hands could hold Peter’s upon his abdomen. They stayed silent for a long moment, until Peter broke the silence with the rest of his story. The lump in his throat remained.

“I went straight home to Aunt May,” continued Peter. “I didn’t know about my mutations, not properly, but I felt her relief and love for me . . . so happy I’d made it alive, devastated to have lost the love of her life . . . I kept hearing ‘what if’ in my head. What if we hadn’t fought that morning? What if I hadn’t run away? What if I’d have taken a different street? I – I _swore_ I would never be responsible for anyone else’s death again. I swore on his grave.

“A-anyway, I became Spider-Man and tried to be a hero. I couldn’t tell you my true identity at first, because you were still a mercenary and we didn’t get on well, but I sensed your idolisation of me and I felt like I needed to be the best I could be . . . for your sake. I wanted to be a good influence on you. I know I treated you badly at first, but then I got to know you and I – I started to fall in love with you . . . by that point you’d already met me as Peter Parker, so I was scared, you know? I didn’t think you could love me for me.

“I’m geeky and I – I like to skateboard on my time off, just like I help out with my dad’s science experiments and things, and I wear glasses when I read . . . I thought you were _crazy_ for asking me out! Shiklah was beautiful, Cable was so ruthlessly strong, and I’m -? I don’t know. You thought I was just a normal human. I thought that telling you the truth would disillusion you, make you no longer like Spider-Man, only things got serious . . .”

It was difficult to admit. He could sense Wade’s pain and frustration – _bastard, couldn’t even tell me the truth, to be fair, he’s got low self-esteem, who the fuck hasn’t? – _and it was heart-breaking to feel Wade comparing it to Shiklah’s hidden infidelity. They swore to each other to never keep secrets, and so this breach of trust would take time to repair. He sensed Wade’s desire to move forward, so there was room for them to rebuild the lost trust, and he squeezed tightly onto Wade’s hand for reassurance in his moment of panic.

“The longer I waited, the harder it was to confess,” said Peter.

“You thought I’d like Spidey less? Seriously?”

“Wade, you know my past.” Peter gave a long sigh. “It’s been rough; my parents just left me on my aunt’s doorstep and vanished, I was abused by a person I thought a friend, and then bullied horrendously at school. Forgive me, but I didn’t exactly think I was worth loving, especially after MJ and I broke up and I thought it was proof that something was wrong with _me_. Honestly, the first time I ever felt worth anything was with you.”

Peter turned his head and looked to the open doors. He caught sight of his father standing there; Tony was dressed as causally as always, but the expression he wore was a strange mixture of sorrow and relief, and he nodded in acknowledgement of Peter. It was possible he heard some of their discussion, as he seemed reluctant to enter when they were in the midst of such an important conversation. Tony gave a salute and walked away quietly, which gave Peter time to look to his partner and truly apologise.

“I’m so sorry I never told you, I just –”

“Didn’t want to lose me?” Wade asked. “I get it, Petey.”

They sat in quiet for a long while, but the sense of adoration washed over Peter in waves. It was true that Wade still loved him, which meant the absolute world to him, and he almost wished they could stay together like that for a long while longer. He listened to Wade’s breathing, even the annoying whistle as something seemed lodged in his nose, and – rather than being grossed out – he simply felt grateful that Wade was still with him. Wade asked:

“Okay, I have _one_ question.”

“Shoot,” said Peter.

“When Spidey said that I should totally tug on –”

“ _N-not so loud_!” Peter lightly struck the back of his hand. “Y-yeah, I – I like that a lot. Actually, I like that _more_ than a lot. Remember when I – er – came last night . . . the first time, I think? T-that was probably why . . . anyway, can we _not_ talk about that here?”

“Why not? Bruce is napping in the room next door,” said Wade. “Tony is asleep by Steve’s bedside; he spent most the night running between you two, until I’m pretty sure Bruce slipped him something, but when _I_ ask for a dose -! Bah, double standards. Nova said he’d be over around lunchtime; he’s going to bring the gang and pizza, but I told him to burn the crust! You can eat pizza, right? You’re not nil by mouth?”

“How should I know?” Peter gave a long yawn. “You probably ought to wake Bruce up soon, because – if I’m not on bed-rest – I want to get moving and see Pops. I need to visit Aunt May, too, as she must be worried sick! Oh God, what about Ellie? It’s not right to just leave her with Pepper, so we ought to ring Preston or Jessica –”

“Aw, sheesh, I like you better when you’re asleep.”

“Bite me, Wade,” teased Peter.

Wade laughed loudly. He reached over to place a kiss on Peter’s forehead; his lips were chapped and cracked, but the touch was so familiar that Peter was forced to give a sigh, so that he tilted his head back and coaxed Wade into kissing his lips. It was chaste. There was no deep passion or anything sexual behind it, but there was a great deal of love as their lips lingered, along with a promise of something more to come when Peter was at full health.

“So you don’t hate me?” Peter asked.

“I’m pissed as fuck, yeah,” said Wade. “I ain’t going to hate you, though. You just basically combined my two favourite people! Oh . . . oh shit . . . you – you – you mean -!” Wade pouted. “ _We could have done it in costume_! You could have used the webbing, too, or –!”

Peter burst out into laughter. It felt so good to laugh, especially when there had been so many tears lately, and he had to stop when he couldn’t see through the tears. He broke off into soft giggles, until his stomach began to ache, at which point he gave a small groan and held his abdomen with open palms. Wade looked on the verge of a panic-attack, so Peter was forced to smile and reassure him, before he reached up to pull his boyfriend down again for another kiss, but – this time – he made sure the passion seeped through.

“Second we get out of here –”

“Yeah?” Wade asked.

“Pick a rooftop,” said Peter. “Arrive in costume. I’ll bring the webs.”

It was almost adorable how red Wade’s cheeks became. He burst into a smile nearly as wide as Peter’s, before he virtually collapsed on top of Peter and embraced him tightly, so that Peter had to gasp out a reminder about the unborn child, and – as Wade pulled away – his eyes were watering with both love and excitement. It was difficult to differentiate their feelings, as the love they felt was so similar and so strong.

“I freaking love you,” said Wade.

“I love you, too.”


	9. Chapter 9

# Epilogue

“Looking good, Peter.”

Tony glanced down to Peter’s stomach, before he gave a wink. It would have been familial and friendly at any other time, enough that Peter would have said thanks and continued his day, but there was something so deathly infuriating considering the context. Peter rested his hand over his extended stomach; he could no longer see his feet, while every few minutes the baby would kick painfully just under his ribs, and balance was a bitch. It didn’t help that he was sure the baby was playing drums on his bladder. He felt awful.

Peter ignored his father as best as possible. He instead walked into the living room – well, _waddled_ according to Wade – and sat down next to Steve on the sofa. The blond soldier reached out to touch Peter’s stomach with a smile, but Peter shot him a dark and narrow glare that stopped him in his tracks. There was just something about pregnancy that screamed ‘personal space no longer exists’, so that apparently his stomach was public property.

“You can both bite me,” he muttered.

“Fresh batch of pregnancy hormones today, Pete?” Tony asked.

The Tower was surprisingly empty; a part of Peter half-suspected Wade had sent word over about the visit, so a lot of the Avengers had time to hide or leave, but Tony wandered over with a tray of drinks and seemed genuinely happy to see his son. It felt awfully warm inside the living room, too, enough that – even in just an oversized t-shirt and old jeans – Peter felt sweat-stains appearing under the arms and around the neck, which made him wonder how Tony and Steve coped in thick shirts and sweaters, almost as if they thought it cold.

“I want to go back to teaching,” muttered Peter. “The baby is two weeks late, though! If it takes its time any longer, Bruce says we may have to induce. I don’t know exactly what that involves, but it doesn’t sound pleasant or fun or anything else. Why is he taking so long?”

“Maybe you’ve made it so comfortable that he wants to stay,” said Steve.

“You know what? Bite me.”

Peter caught the look that Steve shot Tony, as the other man slid the tray of drinks onto the coffee table between the two sofas. There was water with a slice of lemon, something Peter craved a lot as of late, along with two glasses of lemonade and what looked like cola on the side, and Peter hoped that this time Tony’s thirty-day chip would last longer than a weekend away in Vegas. He sensed Tony’s amusement as he sat down opposite them, just as he sensed Steve’s worry and frustration, and he realised exactly how he acted. He gave a sigh.

“I’m sorry, but you have _no_ idea how annoying this is,” said Peter.

“I remember the last pregnancy pretty well,” muttered Tony. “It should have been a huge sign that you burst into tears because Bruce got the gender wrong; I thought you just really wanted a boy, but apparently you were just ‘happy no matter what’. It was bizarre.”

“I think it was sweet,” added Steve. “It wasn’t ‘bizarre’ when you think of the gender announcement as a confirmation that everything was okay, that the pregnancy was real, and this was a little _person_ about to be in our lives. Until then, the baby was just a concept, but the gender made them _real_. They weren’t just ‘the baby’, but our future granddaughter. How is Mayday dealing with this, by the way? Excited to be a sister?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Peter rubbed circles on his stomach. “I – er – have had a lot to focus on, so I’ve kind of left all that side of things to Wade . . . I know that makes me a bad parent, but Ellie’s graduation is coming up and then Aunt May was in hospital and MJ’s wedding took up so much time, too, and now the baby is overdue and –”

“Life happens, Peter, but you’re not a bad parent for being busy. Mayday is a bright young girl, so she’ll understand that you have a lot on your plate. Why don’t you leave little May here for a few days? It’ll give you and Wade time to bond before the baby arrives.”

“No, I couldn’t do that. I really do want to spend more time with her.”

“Just don’t overstretch yourself, not right now, okay?”

Peter smiled warmly, but soon the tears began to rise. They happened so often lately, especially when he thought about his daughter and how much he owed her, and he wondered whether he would be able to handle three children, even if Ellie was all grown up now. He leaned over and rested his head on his stepfather’s shoulder, while Steve draped an arm over him and held him close, and he let his eyes fall closed for a brief moment. Tony gave a chuckle from opposite, as he sipped from his glass, and the room grew warmer.

“There’s just so much to do,” said Peter.

There was little time for Steve to reply, as soon there came the sound of the elevator doors opening and the familiar sounds of his family. He heard Mayday before he saw her; she ran with great speed over to the sofa, before she jumped next to Tony with a huge creak of springs and wood, and – in a couple more years – she would probably break the sofa with those kinds of jumps. Peter lacked the energy to chastise her, while Tony held her in a headlock and rustled her hand with a large, open palm. Mayday laughed loudly.

The resemblance to Peter was uncanny; her hair was the exact shade of brown, while her eyes were the same shade of blue even down to the almost navy flecks, and even her expressions reminded him so much of old photographs of himself. A lot of Wade was there, especially in her personality, but – overall – she was definitely Peter’s daughter. He smiled as she play-fought with her grandfather, and only looked away when Wade sat next to him.

“Are we late, baby boy?”

Wade was dressed beautifully in a pitch-black suit, with a red lining and red shirt, and Peter remembered well how his husband purposely wore that same outfit a few months previous, when the hormones had a _very_ different effect than crying fits and moments of anger. He wondered whether Wade still wore it out of hope the good kind of sleepless nights would come back, but all Peter wanted to do was to fall asleep in the rocking chair, which was the only way to get their unborn son to settle long enough to get any sleep.

“No later than this one in here,” said Peter.

“Nah, he just knows there’s nowhere better to be than inside –”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please.” Peter gave a loud groan. “I know you mean well, but it just sounds like an innuendo and I _really_ don’t think them appropriate, at least not in the same sentence in which my unborn son is mentioned. I just want him _out_.”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to finally be able to hug and hold him.”

Peter glanced to his left and saw the dreamy look on Wade’s face; every time Wade worried about impending fatherhood, he would always return to showing signs of being the best father around, and this child was no different. Wade’s smile could have lit up the room. It was so bright and wide, showing off slightly yellowing teeth and making the sores at the corner of his mouth weep, and even the pain from his scars gave him no mind.

It made his heart soar, especially when he could feel the love – _kid’s going to be so cute, a mini-Spidey-Petey-thingy, I want to teach him to play catch! Can we play catch?, everyone plays catch, I think – _and he gently pulled himself away from Steve and latched onto Wade instead, as he wrapped his arms around his partner. He felt Wade’s chest heave up and down with his laughter, while he ran his hands through Peter’s hair and stroked him gently, and Peter began to feel at peace with the situation. Wade always knew how best to calm him.

“Do you guys have everything ready?” Steve asked.

“Hmm, the nursery’s all set,” answered Peter.

He smiled as he thought about the photographs framed on the wall. Wade had wanted to go for more traditional pictures, like animals and cartoon characters, but Peter had insisted that their son grow up just like Mayday had with family all around him. The photograph of Aunt May and Uncle Ben was central to everything, but Peter had not neglected a single person from his life in the collage of images. The photograph of Wade taken candidly in the kitchen was his favourite, caught in the middle of a food-fight with Ava and MJ.

“Did I ever tell you guys how much I appreciate you?”

Peter looked up from Wade’s chest, as he glanced between Tony and Steve. He saw Tony shush Mayday for a moment, as she collapsed onto the sofa and rested her head upon her grandfather’s lap, and Peter smiled as his daughter grabbed a magazine from underneath the sofa and began to read. It reminded him of himself; he remembered playing with Tony just like that, as well as being so intelligent but having so much energy, and he remembered how loved he had been and how his father had taught him about being a good parent in turn.

“What do you mean, Peter?” Steve asked.

“I guess I always took Pops for granted,” admitted Peter. “I love him to bits, but it wasn’t until we had Mayday that I realised all he sacrificed for me. He wasn’t the best father in the world, but he tried more than anyone and gave me everything I needed, and when you both got together -? You were my role model and hero. I want to thank you both.”

“Let’s get this straight,” said Tony. “You want to thanks us for being . . . parents?”

“Exactly.” Peter laughed and cuddled against Wade. “I never knew how annoying sleepless nights could be, or the temper tantrums, or how expensive Christmas could be . . . I also never knew how every morning you could love your children all the more, or how just thinking of them could make you smile, and how wonderful it is to watch them grow into their own person. You two _raised_ me. I can never thank you enough for that.”

Tony gave a smile that was oddly sentimental, as he scratched at the corner of his eye. It was clear he was trying to hide a tear, always so ashamed at showing emotion before people, but Steve had no such compunctions and reached over to nudge Peter’s chin with a closed fist. Peter felt himself begin to grow teary-eyed again, as he laughed and let his hand rest over his distended stomach, where an all too familiar kick came. Ben was certainly strong, enough that he took after Wade already, and it was strange to _miss_ him when they had yet to meet.

“I can’t wait to meet him,” whispered Peter. “I’ve just realised how much you two have done for me, and I – I guess I just hope I can be half the father to my son that you guys were to me, because – if I can – he’ll be the luckiest boy alive. Thank you both.”

“You’ll be an excellent father, Peter,” said Steve. “I promise.”

“I hope so, I already love him so much.”

The baby gave another kick.

“Even if he is a handful.”

 


End file.
